Game of Fate
by Vengeful Soldier
Summary: A king without a kingdom is hardly a king at all. Seeking redemption for his mistakes the Once and Future King answers a call for help that will test him more than he realizes.
1. Chapter 1

Madeline wouldn't say that she was the most faithful of septa, nor that she knew the scripture better than most, but she did do the best that she could. Treating common injuries, helping women give birth, educating those who sought to learn the written word, and administering to the spiritual needs of the faithful.

She and her missionary group travelled from village to village, to every inn, every hamlet, and farm in between that they could find offering aid to all those that they encountered. Madeline felt comfort in the labour, helping those who needed the aid of the Seven, but it wasn't fulfilling. Not truly, for in her heart of hearts she wanted more.

She felt a longing in her that had been there since she had been a child taken in by the sept. She knew how lucky she was to have been given the chance to become a septa rather than fend for herself as many orphans were forced to do. How she had been given opportunities that many could only dream of, and spared the hardships of this world. She knew all of this, but the longing remained.

Madeline didn't know it was that she wanted, just that she wanted more. It could be motherhood, as she had often thought of having children of her own, yet as dear as the dream was, she knew that it was not it. As a girl she had dreamed of being a noble lady, living in a large castle with loyal servants and retainers, but the thoughts of riches and power did not set her heart aflutter. It wasn't faith that she longed for either.

Madeline went through the motions of being a septa in her daily life. She said the words, performed the rites, and did as the sept bid her to do, but it was all a front. Or at least it felt like one. Like she was an actor on a stage, saying her lines and wearing the mask of a stranger as she went through the motions of the life of another.

In her most private thoughts, always waiting just below the surface of her conscientiousness was a deep realization about herself. That the longing within her belied a greater revelation as to her true thoughts. That she didn't truly believe in the Seven. Not even a little. How it always felt like she was telling a terrible lie whenever she instructed villagers how to pray. Like she was making them look like quite the fools saying words aloud to the heaven. That she should flush with embarrassment and hang her head in shame for even suggesting that they pray to the empty sky. That was not to say that she did not have faith whatsoever.

Ever since she was a child she had been enamoured with tales of knights and chivalry. Of true knights whose virtue was an example to all that they met. Helping those in need and walking the thorny path that was only a sliver between being a martyr and knighthood.

She had believed in that more than she believed in the Seven, as many a lashings with a wicker branch could attest, but the lashes had not extinguished the belief within her, rather driven it out of sight. She acted the part, said the words, did everything that was proper of a septa, yet her faith laid not with the Seven, but with a true knight.

As a little girl she had stayed up late reading tales of the Targaryens and their long lineage. Of dragons and things of magic and myth. Of the first men and the Children of the Forest who had the White Walkers. Of the tales of heroic knights who had risen in times of greatest need to vanquish the evil from the world. Her 'gift' if you could call it that aiding in her reading. A cause that had been of much greater concern for her growing up that her adoration of tales of chivalry.

She didn't know why she had such faith, for no knight had ever come close to the idol she held so dear, and most made a mockery of it, yet it was a feeling that she could not shake. That somewhere, somehow, there was a knight that was more saint than man. A knight who would shine with godly radiance and be of pure heart. It was a belief that had stayed with her all her life. One that no contradiction, no evil could shake from her.

Madeline had long been told that she spent too much time in her own head. Exploring realms of heroes and fantasy rather than tending to the needs of those around her, both physical and spiritual. Perhaps they were right, because there was scarce a free moment where she didn't find herself gazing off at something that only she could see. Imagining the figure of her fantasy that she could never put a face to. She often found her dreams were pleasant to inhabit than the dull monotony of real life. Perhaps it was this absent mindedness that she had reacted so slowly when Father Mathew was killed.

The priest fell backwards, his face a bloody ruin from the axe that ripped free with a meaty sucking sound as he fell to the ground with a thump. Madeline had been helping the women of the village harvest cabbages and only noticed what was happening when those around her began screaming.

She looked up like a startled rabbit, shock making her unable to comprehend what she was seeing at first as she saw Father Mathew's own blood staining his dour robes dark red. A large bearded man dressed in crude hide armour and carrying a stone axe standing over top of him, letting out a bellowing laugh as he did so.

Dozens more dressed like him quickly rushing past and into the village from out of the forest. Yelling and baying like crazed animals. Dirty, dishevelled, they brandished their weapons and their crude armour was adorned with bones and other 'trophies' from past exploits. bronze torques wrapped around their necks like coiled snakes and iron rings decorated their fingers carved with bestial designs and fearsome points.

Three more of the village men were dead before Madeline had the presence of mind to draw breath to scream, yet no sound emerged. Her hand came to cover her mouth as if to both keep her rebellious stomach at bay and for the touch to confirm to her that what was happening was real. That these hill men were actually attacking WillowBirch and that men were dying. Their bright blood seeping into the ground, clotting the earth instead of the wound from which it had flowed.

Madeline watched them grab one of her fellow septas from her missionary group, her robes unsuited for running yet they did not kill her. Strong hands dragged Danae down, screaming and pleading as they ripped the clothes from her body and began to violate her. Laughing at her cries.

Horror engulfed Madeline, shaking with fear, her eyes wide and mouth agape she stayed there kneeling in the dirt, unsure of whether to scream or run, yet she couldn't even find the courage to breathe.

Strong calloused hands grabbed her arms and she let out a yelp of terror, only to find it was one of the elderly village woman who was pulling Madeline to her feet.

"Run girl! To the sept with you, now go!"

Madeline must have stayed still a moment too long, because the matron actually started dragging Madeline along with her until Madeline began her own stumbling run, hampered as she was with her long robes.

Some of the men from the village ran past them, carrying scythes, or wood axes, or even fishing harpoons since WillowBirch overlooked the sea, but they were not warriors. They were fishermen and farmers fighting in a haphazard fashion against men, and even a woman or two who made their lives about killing and plundering.

Screams and the sound of battle engulfed Madeline, making her heart beat like that of a small and frightened bird. She caught a whiff of smoke and turned to see the hill men tossing lit torches onto the thatched roofs of the huts which took to flame greedily.

She stumbled, but the strong hands of the matronly woman pulling her along kept her moving towards the village sept. With stone walls and thick wooden doors it would be the safest place in the village. Ironic that even now the faith that she didn't believe would keep her safe.

As they reached the doors of the sept, others were rushing inside. The old, the young, the women, and the lame were all being ushered inside. Amidst the desperation and confusion, a smell came to Madeline. One that she had come to know quite well with her work in the healing halls of the sept. It had a metallic iron smell that permeated her nose and stuck to her tongue like a thick miasma. It was the smell of blood. There was a whistling sound and something rushed by Madeline's face, ending in a meaty thunk.

She turned slowly in horror to see the matronly woman who had ushered her to safety dead with an arrow fitted with black raven feathers sticking from her back. Madeline stood dumbstruck at the sight, at how easily life could be snuffed out, before another pair of strong hands pulled her further inside and the thick wooden doors to the sept were closed and barred.

Light filtered into the sept from the windows where the stone walls met the wood ceiling and it revealed the weeping, fearful faces of those within. Some had their faces twisted in the agony of fear and grief, while others sat stone faced, unable to process what was happening.

A chorus of panicked cries rose as an axe thudded into the thick wooden doors of the sept, followed by a torrent of prayers to each aspect of the Seven. Madeline knew that she should pray, that it was expected of her, but what god would listen to a woman who didn't truly believe.

Madeline sank to her knees in front of the carving of the Warrior, finding emotions welling up inside of her that she could not control and tears began to fall from her eyes. Perversely, her fear for herself increased as her 'gift' began to make itself known as it often did when she was greatly distressed. Blue lines of light tracing their way across her body began to extend and grow in both length and complexity. Extending to the tips of her fingers and disappearing up the sleeves of her robes, before snaking their way up past the coverings of her collar, tracing their way across her face.

"Please..." began Madeline, not speaking any prayer that she had ever been taught, but rather speaking from the heart.

"I have always believed, truly believed in you," Continued Madeline looking at the sculpture of the warrior, but not praying to the aspect. No, she was praying to something else. Someone else.

"Ever since I was a little girl I've heard the stories, the legends of a hero arising when the need is greatest. I've never believed in any other god or deity, or any other empty promises. I've always put my faith in chivalry. Please...I've always believed...believed in a true knight. If any gods are listening, if you are listening...please...I need your help."

Tears fell from Madeline's face and to the stone below as the lines of blue light that wove their way across her body pulsated with power into the stone below, forming a circle like it was burning it out of the stone itself. Lines crisscrossing within and odd runes appearing within, yet Madeline noticed none of this.

"If you can hear me, I summon you, King of Knights! Please!" Madeline was weeping now, but the tears slowed as light penetrated her shut lids and the frantic prayers of those around her ceased. Bleary tear-soaked eyes opened to see swirling particles of glowing blue light in front of her. She watched them swirl and marvelled at their beauty, before they began to come together, starting at the ground and rising upwards.

As she watched the thing in front of her take shape, she realized that it was a man taking form. Madeline pinched herself to see if she was dreaming, and the sharp pain replied that she was not.

The blue glow disappeared as the particles formed the head of the figure, revealing silvery steel and a blue tunic. A knight, and as his face was revealed an exquisitely handsome one. Like he was chiselled from stone, made in perfection, his hair was a like gold dust immediately bringing to mind thoughts of Lannisters, further reinforced as he opened his eyes which were a pure and clear vibrant green.

He looked at her, and Madeline felt fear blossom in her breast at the stern expression this man wore. Then the fear turned to butterflies as he smiled down at her, serene and welcoming. He extended his hand down to her and Madeline took it, responding to the gentle pressure as he brought her to her feet.

"Are you my Master?" 

xxx

Pain. He was in pain wasn't he? He was sure that he was, could feel the gaping wound in his chest fluttering open with every breath. He could feel his life ebbing out from the open injury with every passing moment, yet it did not hurt. Nor could he recall how long he had been here. Kneeling on a hill atop a mountain of bodies, overlooking knights and peasants alike who had looked up to him. Now doomed to do so forever more. Grasping onto the hilt of Excalibur, the last vestige of his kingdom propping him up and helping him cling to life it was all Arthur could see. In the golden light of the setting sun, it seemed that the bodies were ablaze in the fires of the hell that Arthur now found himself in. That he had led them to.

They had called him king, looked to him for guidance, and now they were strewn around him as food for carrion. Still warm corpses of what a short time ago had been the very people that he had sworn to protect. He had failed them, of that there was no doubt, because they had turned on him. Those who had still believed in him had rushed to his aid, flying his banner proudly, proclaiming him the once and future king of Albion, but what was a king without his people? In the end, those who had turned on him and those who had stayed loyal had met the same fate. Killed each other and torn the land apart. His beautiful England.

Their eyes were glazed over, empty, but accusing even though they were now sightless. An army of silent judgment who now all found their king unworthy and Arthur couldn't agree more.

When he had been alive he had discarded all of his own desires, all of his own wants. To be selfless and serve his people he had taken on the title of king and the mantle of martyr. He had taken his ideals and shaped them to be his true self and living only for his people. To be unwavering in his knightly vows, Unfaltering in his courage, and unyielding in his beliefs. He had lived the life of a martyr for the good of his people and be a paragon of knightly virtue, but it hadn't been enough. He hadn't been enough.

When he had been alive. Why had he said that? He was still alive now surely. Wasn't he? Thoughts began to coalesce, thoughts after the battle when Mordred had mortally wounded him. Images flashed through his mind and he gazed at them as if through a fog. Slowly a realization came to him. He was dead. Or at least close enough to it to blur the lines. He hadn't crossed over, perhaps wasn't even entirely dead, but he was no longer among the living either. He was trapped here.

Maybe it was a type of penance that he had to pay. Live and relive the lowest point of his life over and over again until he realized his mistakes and how to fix them, but how could he change was was already done? The past had already been written, the ink dry and the words set.

He would give anything to go back to this day. Before the battle took place and fall to his knees before Mordred. Throw his crown to the ground and tell him that if he wanted it so badly to just take it. That it wasn't worth this. Beg for him to end the madness. Brother against brother, son against father, Beautiful England engulfed in war. Just take the crown and his head if it was what he wanted, but let it end there. Let the killing stop there. What he would give for another chance. A chance to make things right for his people. Even a chance to save another kingdom from the fate that had befallen his, he would give anything.

Arthur closed his eyes and grasped the hilt of Excalibur, his failures following and taunting him as he chased eternal slumber, or even a brief respite. Blurring the lines between consciousness and dreaming, if that was what he was doing now it was as if was a silent witness to his own life. Watching as he made the same decisions over and over again that led to the same outcome again and again. Every time it was the same, and when it ended, Arthur would open his eyes and find himself still atop the hill and looking upon everyone that he had failed.

He wanted to yell, scream, shriek his anguish at the sky, but found that like always he didn't. Perhaps he couldn't now. Instead, he crushed it down and presented the stoic and unwavering image that had led to his people adoring him, and then dying for him.

It was then that he heard it. A voice, as if it was coming from the heavens. Warbling and distorted it was hard to understand, but the emotion behind it was all too familiar. It was grief, desperation, someone pleading for a hero that would never come. Arthur slowly rose his head towards the sky as if looking for the sound.

The more he focused on it, the clearer it became. It was a woman's voice, pleading for help. Pleading for a knight, a true knight to come to her aid.

Arthur felt a stirring in his breast that he hadn't felt in a long time. An urge he had thought long since extinguished, drowned under the waves of grief that had consoled him in his loneliness all this time. He felt the urge to wield Excalibur.

This could be a cruel trick, God playing an awful prank upon him, or perhaps the devil, but Arthur didn't care. He was still a knight, had sworn his immortal soul to his vows and death would not see an end to chivalry. His body may have been broken, his kingdom torn down, but so long as his will remained, so would he. So would the Knights of the Round Table.

He felt what had been oddly absent as he tried to rise. Pain. Lancing, stabbing, mind numbing, excruciating pain. Pain that nearly sent him crashing back to his knees, but Arthur refused. He refused to fail again. Refused to let the same wound make him fall twice. Muscles standing out like taught cables in his neck, face set in stony determination, the Once and Future King forced himself ever higher on shaking legs. Green eyes resolute as he finally rose fully to his feet, the voice clear now, as if the woman was standing right beside him, but the pain making him feel dizzy, like he would faint as the world around him lost colour and began to turn to grey.

The last ray of light shining down on him from above and Arthur took a hand from the hilt of Excalibur and reached out towards it. Feeling the warmth as if a ribbon of fire grazed his armoured fingers. It sent a jolt through Arthur, sending colour racing back into his vision and banishing the pain in his side.

Standing now without trouble, he saw a tether handing down from the heavens, golden and waving from an unseen wind. The voice resonating from it, and seeming to come from within his own head.

" _Please...I've always believed...believed in a true knight. If any gods are listening, if you are listening...please...I need your help."_

Arthur raised Excalibur from the dirt, the Sword of Promised Victory shining in golden radiance, pulsing with newfound purpose as Arthur found it coursing through himself as well. Arthur felt alive again. He grasped the ribbon, and the world was consumed with light, before fading to nothingness.

He felt cold for the briefest of moments, then felt a pressure in his chest. It rose to unbearable levels before Arthur realized what it was. He breathed.

Everything came at him in a wave of sensation. The smell of smoke, sweat, and blood. The cries of women, and the clash of steel and the pained howls of dying men. The feel of fine cotton against his skin and the weight of his armour on his body. The comforting hilt of Excalibur filling his hand and he flexed his fingers around the grip. He also saw a woman in front of him. The woman. A girl with dark red hair and freckled cheeks streaked with tears. Blue lines traced their way across her body in straight lines, turning sharply at points as if drawn by a ruler. Glowing with magical power. Her green eyes were reddened with grief, but gazing at him with a mixture of fear and hope. Arthur smiled at her and held his free hand out to her, knowledge flooding into his being, making him understand what he was doing and what kind of gift he had been given. But also what kind of contract he had unknowingly signed.

The girl had feared him at first sight, but he could see that fear fading away. Turning to something else as a light blush came upon her cheeks. Hesitantly she took his hand and Arthur helped her to her feet.

She was dressed much like a nun, in neutral grey clothing with something like a habit covering her head, but she had no crucifix around her neck to signify her devotion to Jesus Christ. Like a flash of light, the knowledge made itself known to Arthur. She was a septa, and she served the Seven. Seven incarnations of the same god, each serving a different function.

"Are you my Master?"

"I...I...yes," said the woman, joy overcoming her shock as she smiled widely, tears flowing freely down her face, but this time not out of grief or desperation.

"Then I hereby pledge myself to your service and will faithfully and dutifully carry out all orders you give me so long as they do not dishonour me or yourself Master," said Arthur, falling to bended knee and inclining his head.

"Master?" said the girl confused, realizing that he had called her this twice.

With a crash of splintering wood, their silent audience in the seven sided structure they were in cried out in fear and alarm. Cowering away from the figures who filled the door frame.

Men in thick furred armour barged in, carrying weapons made of stone, or else nearly worn out iron and steel. Arthur quickly rose to his feet and put the woman behind him, still holding Excalibur low, hidden even from sight cloaked as it was in its invisible air.

"I will warn you this one time. Leave this place now. Give back what you have stolen, make amends, and never return to harm these people and I will let you live."

Arthur did not yell or shout, but his voice carried the weight of authority and martial menace that years of being a warrior king had forced upon him. His voice alone, and the hardened look in his emerald eyes gave pause to the men, and even woman, if only for a moment.

"Ha! A brave Ser Knight with no blade hiding with the old and the women is giving us orders?"

"I do not hide, and it would be a grievous mistake to think me unarmed. Surrender now and live," demanded Arthur, adopting an Ox Guard with a sword still appearing invisible.

One of the men, the one at the front of the group gave a short laugh, bones rattling together revealing a cheap sort of chainmail armour, before with a cry he rushed towards Arthur, axe held high and intent on bringing it crashing down upon Pendragon's unarmoured head.

In a move that even those watching could not follow, Arthur was all at once behind the man, having made a motion like he had swung a sword, but the damage left behind would have had one believe a giant had cleaved the man in two with a battle axe.

The man's bone armour broke apart, sending bones flying to every corner of the seven sided sept, accompanied by pieces of his own torn free by Excalibur and a geyser of blood erupting from the wound. The two halves falling separately to the ground. Before the shock could register on the rest of the raiders, Arthur moved again, Excalibur singing as it was brought up in a slash ripping open another man from groin to shoulder. Arthur claimed the head of the third raider in a clean stroke, before running the woman raider through to the hilt with Excalibur. She stared at him in shock as the holy sword passed through her furred armour as easily as a knife through butter, before with a gurgling gasp she was gone and fell to the ground with the others. Four dead in but an instant, and not so much as a mark upon Arthur. A growing pool of blood surrounding the Knight dressed in silver and blue.

"Stay here, and barricade yourselves inside," said Arthur turning to the awe and fear struck villagers cowering in the seven sided building. "I will put at end to this."

Resolutely, Arthur left the Sept, falling upon a pair of raiders who had pulled one of the village women to the ground and were in the process of tearing her dress off. Their heads left trails of blood as they flew from their shoulders, Arthur's expression never changing as he set about the grisly deed.

A group of about a dozen came towards Arthur, but he moved so fast a crack of thunder seemed to follow him, hitting the raiders with the force of an avalanche, sending bodies careening out of his way. Then Excalibur began to sing.

They converged on Arthur from all sides, weapons of stone, iron, and steel intent on ending the life of the blonde knight, but none even came close to him. He weaved in between the blows, keen green eyes tracking every movement with cold calculation.

Arthur moved with inhuman speed and struck with inhuman strength, every one of his blows seeing to the death of another hill man. Blood flowing more freely than water, the downpour following close behind the sound of rending flesh that was Excalibur's battle cry.

Yet Arthur did not fight or yell like a berserker with wild, but powerful swings. Losing himself to the thrill of battle and cursing his foes. Instead he fought as a master duellist, finding openings in his opponents defence and exploiting them mercilessly with cold and detached precision. The most eery thing for his opponents was that he fought in complete silence. It wasn't long before he was standing among a small mountain of severed limbs and corpses. Those few who remained backing away fearfully from the knight clothed in silver and blue, who ripped men apart though he carried no weapon.

Arthur adopted a plow guard, holding Excalibur at a middle position, staring down the remaining raiders with green eyes as cold as the emeralds they emulated. A particularly large man in crude hide armour sporting a large beard, held a great stone axe like it was a ward to keep Arthur away, eyes wild with fear.

"Are you the leader of these raiders?" demanded Arthur.

"I...y-yes," stuttered the man taking a step back.

"Then you are my opponent," said Arthur calmly, the earth erupting from under his feet as he used mana to rush forwards at incredible speed, the sound of thunder once again chasing him. He cut the leader of the raiders in half from groin to scalp, the force of the blow knocking those around their leader to the ground and kicking up a storm of dust. The force of the stroke completely obliterating the remains of the leader. His tone axe shattering.

As the dust cleared, Arthur's eyes fell on one of the half dozen or so remaining bandits, a woman with braided brown hair and terrified hazel eyes. Her expression of terror mirroring those of her fellows around her.

"M-mercy lord! Please, I yield I YIELD!"

"You are beaten," said Arthur calmly. "Leave, and never return or I will make sure to claim the lives I spared this day," commanded Arthur, voice radiating the power of a true king and holding the still invisible Excalibur mere inches from the face of the woman, who seemed to catch a glimpse of the blade and its shifting cover of air. "These people are under my protection. Make sure the rest of your kind know this well."

"Yes milord, of course milord," mewled one of the other raiders, crawling away from Arthur before taking to his feet and running away, the others following hot on his heels as they fled the village.

Arthur watched them go, but did not crow in victory, or let out a shout, instead he simply stood in silence. When they were gone he turned back towards the seven sided sept and started walking back to it, but stumbled clutching at his chest.

It was a pain, like ravenous hunger that threatened to steal the breath from his lungs with sharp lancing spikes of agony. With a start the realization came to him and he ran back to the sept, careful not to use any mana.

Entering, he saw the woman who had summoned him, collapsed on the floor and breathing shallowly with villagers crowded around her. He had used too much, taxed his Master too greatly after she had summoned her. She could die.

Xxx

"Arthur you can not do this, the nobles will not tolerate it."

"There can not be one law for one man and another for a different man. That is not justice, that is arbitrary tyranny lacking any honour."

"They will never forgive you for this Arthur, they will kill you if you do this. She was just a peasant, she was nobody, an afterthought. Somebody not worth the time or strife of the lords."

"A king lives to serve his people, all of his people. A king who cannot look out for his people, all of his people is no king at all."

Madeline awoke from the strange dream that had included the man from...the sept? Surely that too had been a dream. He had looked noble, regal and composed as he had talked to a man who was clearly a high lord. Yet the young man with the pure green eyes had been dressed as a king, but carried himself as a god.

Madeline tried to rise, but was wracked with ravenous hunger. Looking around quickly she saw bread to the table at her side and devoured it, even though it had been going stale with ferocity like that of a starving animal. Only after it was all gone did she discover that there was a mark on her hand, like a sword carved in red on the back of her right hand. She held it up and inspected it, nearly choking as a ripple of light seemed to flow across it.

Madeline quickly dressed herself and ventured outside, shocked to find over half of the village burned to the ground and many of the villagers wearing clothes of mourning. Fresh graves with newly turned earth lined the graveyard behind the sept. Yet despite the grief, the sun was still shining, the birds still singing, and the world carrying on like nothing had happened. If there were gods, they surely didn't care about the fates of man. But if the village had been attacked, then that meant, Madeline paused as the villagers stopped what they were doing to stare at her.

An oppressive silence fell over the village, weighing down on Madeline as heavy as any pack. Then, to her surprise they came to her asking for blessings. For her to touch them, give them good fortune, and even for a good crop.

"Oh Master, please, my child is sick."

"Master, can you heal the injured?"

"Master, what do we do now?"

"M-master?" asked Madeline blinking in confusion. "I-I'm not," started Madeline, falling silent as the blonde man from her dreams with the pure and true green eyes walked up from the rear of the crowd, wearing a blue tunic and pants with brown leather boots. His face was stern and stoic, but from endless discipline rather than grief or anger. The sea of villagers parting for him to pass.

"Master, you're awake. I have to apologize for overtaxing you during the battle. It was shameful on my part and I put you in great danger acting that way. Regrettably I could not take spirit form to speed in your recovery. Another fault of mine."

His voice was even and measured, authoritative, yet inviting and smooth even when tinged with regret and apology. Madeline decided that she could listen to him talk forever.

"Why...why are you calling me Master?" asked Madeline, still blushing at talking with the man.

"You have the command seals on your hand, binding me to you and tethering me to this world. I am your servant. My name is Saber, and we are in this together now Master."

"Together in what?" asked Madeline confused.

AN: Well this was just an idea kicking around in my head for awhile and I was curious to see what people would think of it. My laptop broke so I had to start again on a lot of stuff so I figured it'd be an ok time to put this out.


	2. Chapter 2

The cart trundled down the Kings Road with a clop of hooves striking stone, Madeline holding the reigns of the ass pulling it who carried on at the same leisurely pace it always did when it had when it had pulled the cart for the rest of her missionary troupe. Now, Madeline was all that remained of her original cohort.

The trees on either side of the road gave shelter to those travelling down it in either direction, giving cool shade from the warm summer sun hanging overhead. The babbling of a creek could be heard close to the road, though it grew fainter with every passing step as the road twisted away from the water. The rattling peck of a woodpecker echoed around them, only to fall quiet for a time, before commencing again with greater ferocity.

The robes of a septa were designed to be light to deal with the heat and humidity of summer in the South, but even so the layers of cloth ensured that the wearer would never be cool and a layer of sweat always seemed to cover Madeline in the heat of high noon. Sister Margaret had often said-a pang of grief swept through Madeline at the memory of the elder septa, now dead and buried in WillowBirch. With all the others that they had left behind. Grief threatened to spill forth from her heart and Madeline let out a sniffle, wiping at tears yet to fall, and trying to keep them trapped only for some to escape.

She paused in surprise as a cloth handkerchief wiped at her cheek, taking her tears with it. Saber, her kind and gallant knight the one holding it with an understanding look on his face and riding beside her on an old nag that Madeline and the others had used to help pull out stumps. The old mare seeming to walk with a renewed sense of purpose now that it carried the blonde knight.

"I'm sorry," said Madeline, flushing and turning away from Saber. "I shouldn't cry so much, I'm sure that you're tired of it by now."

"I will never chide someone for showing grief," said Saber in his even and measured voice. "You lost people that you love and the wound will take time to heal. It is not up to me to decide the depth of your wound or the time required to heal. You honour them with your tears, so don't feel shame for showing that you cared about them."

"Your words are a comfort," said Madeline sniffling, surprised once again as Saber held out his hand again, this time holding a water gourd.

"It is hot out today, you should drink lest the heat of the day overcome you with your lessened stamina. Again, I must apologize for my inability to take spirit form. The drain on you should not need to be," said Saber, face falling in what could be described as disgust at himself for his own failings, and Madeline hated seeing that look.

"Oh, no I'm fine, really I am," protested Madeline.

"Then please drink to put my mind at ease Master."

Madeline took the offered gourd, intending to take only a sip, but found herself gulping down the water in greedy droughts, draining nearly half of it as she realized how thirsty she really was.

Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment at the fact, but Saber did not chide her for forgetting to drink water. Instead he took back the water gourd when she offered it to him.

"Thank you Master," said Saber humbly and they travelled in silence for a time.

"What do you mean spirit form?" asked Madeline curiously.

"It is the form that heroic spirits can take to become incorporeal, or rather most can. We still exist and can appear when called, but the mana required to maintain us is much less. Almost nonexistent.

"Mana?" asked Madeline, blinking in confusion.

"Magical energy. As a spirit, for me to take physical form I need a mage to provide me with mana. I do not need to sleep or eat, but both things help regenerate mana and lessen the strain on my Master. Also, I must confess a fondness for eating," admitted Saber with something approaching boyish playfulness.

"So...are you dead?" asked Madeline slowly.

Saber looked away for a moment, but not out of shame, rather as if he was considering the possibility and mulling it over in his mind.

"I don't know," said Saber finally. "I never truly died, at least I don't think I did. But I was dying, of that I'm sure. I wanted so much to undo my mistakes, I asked God to allow me to become a heroic spirit so that I could have a chance to save my home. It seems that he granted my request."

"So...I'm a witch...who summoned a spirit?" asked Madeline dumbstruck.

"A mage, Master. That is why blue lines will appear on you when you become distressed, they are your magical circuits."

"So...then...where are you from?" asked Madeline.

"England," said Saber immediately, the fondness with which he said the name betrayed his love for his homeland.

"Is it far from here?"

"Truly? I do not know Master, but I long to one day return there and undo the damage done. I pray that the Holy Grail has the power to see my wish fulfilled."

"Holy Grail? Forgive me, but you are filling my head with so many things it is like I am living in a book of fantasy."

"It does appear that way," admitted Saber. "The Holy Grail is an artifact of immense power able to grant any wish that the winner of the Holy Grail War wishes. Able to upend fate itself to make it happen."

"Holy Grail War?! You...you mean that there are more like you?"

"Seven in total Master, at least that is how it normally works in a Grail War."

"I don't want to fight in a war!" exclaimed Madeline fearfully, blue lines of light beginning to streak across her body.

"Peace Master. I do not think that this is a Grail War. It does not feel like one."

"N...no?" asked Madeline hesitantly, hope filling her voice.

"No. It was not the Grail that called to me, but rather you did. So we do not have to," Saber paused, eyes going wide as if realizing something of monumental importance and looked back at Madeline in awe.

"What?" asked Madeline, feeling apprehensive.

"You are the one sustaining me entirely Master. Not the grail, no other source of magic, just you."

"Well...you said that I was," said Madeline dumbly.

"Yes, but the Holy Grail provides the lions share of mana for any servant summoned. If there is no war, it means that you both summoned me and are maintaining me all on your own."

"Okay," said Madeline simply. "Is that good?"

"It means that you're a mage of incredible power Master."

"Oh? Really?" asked Madeline brightening. "That's-wait a minute," said Madeline, tone darkening. "Did you think then that I was just weak before?"

"I was merely trying to act within the capabilities of my Master," said Saber, smiling in a placating manner at the dark look that had taken hold of Madeline.

"So you did think i was weak!" huffed Madeline, turning her nose up with a 'hmph' of indignation.

"I beg your forgiveness if I have offended you Master."

"It's fine," sighed Madeline. "So if you became a heroic spirit to undo something, then why did you answer me? I can't offer you anything."

"You were in need of help Master and whether a spirit or not I am still a knight and so long as I have will of my own I will uphold my knightly vows until the end of time. **Believe the Church's teachings and observe all the Church's directions. Defend the Church. Respect and defend the weak. Love your country. Do not fear your enemy. Show no mercy and do not hesitate to make war with** **those who are evil** **. Perform all your feudal duties as long as they do not conflict with the laws of God. Never lie or go back on one's word. Be generous. Always and everywhere be right and good against evil and injustice.** **Those were just some of the vows I swore when I became a knight. I also swore to uphold the virtues of: faith, charity, justice, sagacity, prudence,** **temperance, resolution, truth, liberality, diligence, hope, and valour.** **Death would be no excuse to forsake those pledges.** **"**

 **"** **You remember all that from memory?" asked Madeline.**

 **"I remember it all, because it is who I am Master."**

"So if you only came to help me when I called, when are you going to leave?" asked Madeline.

"Do you wish me gone Master?" asked Saber.

"No! Of course not," said Madeline quickly. "I was just curious as to how long you can remain."

"Since you are the one sustaining me in this world, so long as you remain able to do so I shall remain. I swore myself into your service Master, and for the good or ill that may befall us I am your faithful retainer and will serve you to the best of my ability. I gave my word and so I will keep it till the end. Your will is mine so long as you act with honour and dignity."

"That gladdens my heart to hear that," said Madeline, quietly rejoicing that her knight would not disappear into the air from which he had come. "Where is your armour though? I remembered seeing you wearing a set when you first appeared, but I don't remember you packing any into the cart."

"My armour is always with me Master," said Saber and in a flash of light was dressed once more in silvery steel and a blue tunic."

"Oh my!" exclaimed Madeline in surprise. "It's almost like," said Madeline trailing off.

"Magic," finished Saber.

"Yes. Yes it is," said Madeline, marvelling how the armour disappeared in blue particles of light as quickly as it had appeared.

"Saber, I have a question for you," said Madeline after they had ridden in silence for a stretch of time.

"Of course Master."

"Is your actual name Saber?"

"No," answered Saber. "It is the class of spirit I was summoned as. I am called Saber to both protect my identity and because I wield a sword in combat."

"One of the seven classes that you were talking about?"

"The very same Master."

"Is your name Arthur?" asked Madeline, pausing for a moment and wondering how far she should press the issue, but the dream would just not leave her thoughts from three days past.

"It is Master," said Arthur surprised. "How did you know?"

"I had a dream about you-a dream with you in it!" corrected Madeline quickly, blushing pink in the cheeks at how scandalous what she had said sounded. Blushing deeper still at how what she had said after still sounded immoral.

"What was it about?" asked Arthur curiously.

"Forget it, it's just a silly thing, fatigue is all," said Madeline.

"I don't think it is Master. Since we are bound at a very base level memories will flow across the bond that we share. You will see moments from when I was alive occasionally just as I will see moments from your life."

"Then...who was she?" asked Madeline quietly.

"Who?" asked Arthur.

"The peasant woman. You said-in the dream you said that a king who can't look after his people, all of his people is no king at all."

"Ah. Her," said Arthur, face taking on a more sombre expression.

"Was she special to you?" asked Madeline sympathetically.

"She was a subject of my kingdom. She was also a daughter, a sister, and a newlywed wife. She was as special to me as any other who called me king. All who trusted me to lead them were all of equal value in my eyes, and all as deserving of justice as the next, though many of my lords disagreed."

"King?" breathed Madeline in stupefaction. "You are a king?"

"Yes. My name is Arthur Pendragon, and I was a king. The lord we are speaking of, if he is worthy of such a title took what he called right of first night. He raped that woman repeatedly through the night of her wedding while his men held back and beat her husband nearly to death. When he was finished with her he killed her for biting him when she had tried to fight him off. For the crime of murder, rape, and attempted murder he was sentenced to death. A sentence carried out by my own hand. My advisors told me that she was not worth the strife. Not worth the time. That she was an afterthought, to let it go as a mere indiscretion, and that she was only a peasant," said Arthur, his voice and eyes hardening at the memory. "The grief of her family was as real and poignant as that of any noble family, and the barbarity of what was done lacked any of that mans so called nobility. I swung the axe myself that took his head and seized wealth from his estate to compensate the family."

"You stood up for the small folk and brought them justice Arthur, I don't know of many other lords or kings who would do the same when so confronted with the same choice."

"I did," admitted Arthur, "but I caused much more blood to be shed in seeking that justice even if it did not flow that day. I did what was just, I did what was noble, but did I do what was right?" queried Arthur as if to himself. "I've always been a good knight, but I often wonder if I was ever a good king. My apologies, it seems that the heat has affected me as well, and addled my brain making my tongue wag too freely," said Arthur quickly upon realizing how sombre he had made the mood.

"It's alright, I like listening to you talk," said Madeline. "I like your name too. Arthur. I think it suits you. King Arthur. I quite like the sound of that."

"You praise me greatly Master," said Arthur humbly, but Madeline could see something behind the courtesy. Not hostility, or mockery, but rather lament. His green eyes normally so true and sure appearing for a moment like open windows into his soul, revealing a man in agony and it made Madeline's heart heavy to see.

There was a sound of wood striking off stone, making both Arthur and Madeline look ahead to see an elderly man laying flat on the road ahead of them, a pack full of firewood half spilled out onto the road. Without a moment's pause, Arthur spurred his horse into a gallop, quickly reaching the man's side and leaping from the saddle to the ground. He removed the pack of wood from the man's back and quickly took him into the shade by the side of the road. Uncorking his water gourd and lifting it to the man's lips until he began to drink. The old man hot and clammy to the touch.

When Madeline drew level with the cart she helped treat the old man, wetting rags with water and applying them to the man, helping to cool him. After several minutes the man regained enough lucidity to speak again.

"Sorry for the trouble," mumbled the man, before trying to rise, only for the strong, but gentle hands of Arthur to keep him seated.

"Rest easy grandfather, the sun is out in strength today and it has already taken its toll on you.

"I fear if you keep moving about in the heat, you may not rise the next time you fall. I have seen this many times before, you need rest," added Madeline.

"My wife needs the wood for cooking. I need to get going back," said the man trying to rise again, but both Arthur and Madeline keeping him seated in the shade.

"A few more minutes will make no difference grandfather. Come, drink some water and rest your weary feet."

"I don't mean to be any trouble," said the man again, slurring his words.

"It's no trouble at all," assured Arthur as he and Madeline tended to the man. After some ten minutes had passed, the man was well enough to stand, but was surprised when Arthur led his horse over by the reigns to the man.

"Please indulge us in and let us escort you to your home grandfather," said Arthur kindly.

"I couldn't be such a burden to you two," protested the old man.

"It is no burden grandfather. Ride and rest your feet."

"But I need my firewood, and your cart is already overfull," said the man, looking at the cart that Madeline road on, large enough for the driver to sit if they were small and the back piled high with all manner of things.

"Then your firewood you shall have. Come, let us not keep your wife waiting overly long," said Arthur shouldering the pack of wood quickly.

"I couldn't ask that of you," protested the old man again.

"You do not need to, I do so of my own accord. Come, please, for my peace of mind," said Arthur gesturing.

"Thank you truly young man," said the old man as he was helped into the saddle of the old nag. "Not many people would do this for a stranger in these days."

"It is a knights duty to help those he finds in need, I deserve no thanks," said Arthur and the man's eyes widened in surprise.

"A knight?" asked the man dumbfounded, finally realizing how finely made the blue tunic and leather boots that Arthur wore were made.

"Ser Arthur Pendragon," clarified Madeline.

"I s-shouldn't be on a knight's horse milord," said the old man quickly, almost fearfully, looking for a quick way to dismount.

"The horse belongs to the sept, and my missionary group," placated Madeline.

"Missionary group?" asked the man perplexed, looking around as if expecting to see more.

"We were attacked, at WillowBirch, and I am all that remains of our original number," said Madeline sadly. "Sir Arthur came to our aid and saved my life. So now we are travelling companions," finished Madeline.

"It is a poor excuse of a knight who leaves a woman to wander the roads alone," added Arthur.

"I am sorry for your hardships young lady," said the old man in the way only a man who has suffered the losses of time can.

"Your words are a comfort," said Madeline.

"And you are truly a knight?" asked the old man to Arthur, eyes widening as if he realized he could have just caused great offence.

"Upon my honour I am good sir."

"Sir," said the old man, drawing the word out like it was a foreign thing. "A knight letting me ride his horse and carrying my firewood," said the old man quietly, shaking his head ruefully. "The Seven do continue to surprise me. Again thank you my lord, but we should be off. My wife will be wondering where I am."

"Lead the way grandfather," said Arthur, taking the reigns of the horse and leading the old man down the road, Madeline following in the cart, wooden wheels trundling on the cobbled stone.

It was at least another hour of travel before they reached the man's home. A small house with a timbered roof, a small garden out front protected by a fence, and a small flock of sheep bleating as they trundled around. Arthur helped the old man down from the horse and set the pack of firewood down by the door for him.

"Arnold? Is that you Arnold?" came a wizened voice from inside the house. "I've been waiting for you all morning," said the voice, growing louder as the wooden door opened, revealing a woman laden with wrinkles and starting to stoop under the passing of years. "Oh, you've brought company, I'll put the kettle on," said the woman, turning to go back inside. Bring the wood in with you."

Xxx

"Poor food for a knight and a septa I know, but it's all we have," said the old woman, giving both Madeline and Arthur a bowl of soup.

"The food is more than suitable, and the act itself avows your hospitality. Filling our bellies is more than reward enough. If anything we should compensate you for the meal," said Arthur, causing the old woman to chortle with laughter.

"Eat your fill, we may not have much, but we have more than enough to provide for guests that saved my Arnold."

"I wasn't in that much trouble," protested the old man Arnold.

"Oh hush now, don't squabble in front of our guests," chided the old woman.

"I'm not squabbling," defended Arnold, and Madeline couldn't help but smile at the old couple. The food was simple, but surprisingly good and they made idle chatter until Madeline asked a question that had been bugging her since they arrived.

"Why did you need to travel so far to get firewood? You have many trees around your home," said Madeline.

"Those trees belong to the Lord," said the old woman.

"They are not ours to take. Lord Derringer has set aside a section of the woods we may take timber from, but nowhere else on his lands. If we were to take even a single tree the punishment would be very severe."

"Oh my," was all Madeline said, while Arthur looked like he was lost in thought. When they had said their goodbyes and were set to depart again, Arthur paused before mounting his horse, again looking deep in thought.

"Master, I have a request to make if I may."

"Of course," said Madeline.

"These people, they are good people, but the encroachment of years has robbed them of their vigour. If you would allow it, I would like to make a gift of this nag and some of the provisions given to us in WillowBirch. I believe it would ease their daily labours."

"Of course," said Madeline quickly. "But it is still a long way to King's Landing to walk by foot."

"My feet shall carry me wherever we go as sure as any steed Master, I do not tire easily. Besides, it feels good to be able to walk on my own two feet again. So I have your blessing?"

"You do, just be sure to leave enough for us to make it to the capital."

"Thank you Master, but do not fret, I will not leave us impoverished," said Arthur bowing his head.

Arthur grabbed a bundle of smoked fish from the cart and grabbing the reigns of the old nag led it to the wooden door of the small house, knocking politely.

"Yes milord?" asked the old man, as he opened the door.

"I have a gift for you to thank you for your hospitality. A meal for a meal, and this nag of ours is far too old for long journeys on the road. I believe that she would be more content staying on a small farm by a brook such as this. Filling her days by going for short walks and doing light work would suit her much better."

"I...I can't accept this milord," said the old man, his voice wavering, overcome with emotion.

"Please, it is a gift from both me and the sept. You would honour us both to accept it," said Arthur, momentarily taken aback as the old man began to cry, grasping Arthur in a hug. The King of Knights overcoming his surprise and a small smile gracing his lips. Replaced by a pink blush spreading across his cheeks as the old woman who had been standing beside her husband, planted a quick kiss on his cheek, eyes watery with tears as well.

"Bless you ser knight, Seven bless you," said the woman while her husband wiped at his teary eyes roughly.

"I live to serve my lady, I pray you two good fortune and many more days to come," said Arthur bowing to the elderly couple who stood waving until Arthur and Madeline were long gone from sight.

"That was a knightly thing you did," praised Madeline. "Even if you do have to walk now."

"It was the right thing to do Master."

xxx

"Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!" cursed Madeline, striking her fist off of the stone wall of the Great Sept of Baelor. Stopping only when blood ran from her hand and the pain was enough to even overcome her grief.

"Master," said Arthur concerned, holding Madeline's arm to stop her from striking the wall again.

"How can they do this? HOW?!" demanded Madeline turning on Arthur with tears streaking down her face. "How can the Lord of WillowBirch do nothing? How can the Sept do nothing? People are dead, my family are dead, and the Sept says that it's the will of the Seven and that they were only smallfolk? No compensation, no protection, not even so much as a letter of condolence. The gods and men have turned their backs on those people who will only have corpses and grief to keep them company now. Damn them for this. Damn them to hell!" cursed Madeline, in a hiccuping sob, as blue lines of light began to trace their way across her body. Arthur pulling her into an embrace to both console her, and hide the evidence of her magehood.

"I hate them. I'll never forgive them for this," choked out Madeline into Arthur's chest, finding comfort in being held by her knight. Even her hand beginning to feel better.

"If you desire to help the people of WillowBirch, then we will raise the means to do so ourselves Master," said Arthur.

"How?" asked Madeline, sniffling and wiping at her nose.

"The tournament," said Arthur pointing to the wall where a poster was tacked. "The winners purse is 40 000 golden dragons. With I must confess my ignorance to the value of such an amount, but I believe it to be a great deal."

"It is," said Madeline. "More than enough even, a vast fortune even. You would do this for me?"

"I must admit that my motives are not entirely altruistic master, I long to see what calibre the knights of this land are and the thought of competing again in honourable competition warms my breast."

"But, you're, um," said Madeline wondering how to phrase asking Arthur not to kill the other knights by accident.

"I will restrain myself Master, the other knights will be in no danger from me. Besides the risk of having their pride bruised of course," added Arthur playfully.

"Then I will bandage my hand and we will," began Madeline, pausing and inspecting her hand to see the blood drying, but no wound present. "What?" asked Madeline mystified.

"One of my attributes as a servant Master. The sheath of my sword Excalibur allows me to heal from nearly any wound, but to also heal my Master so long as there is physical contact between us."

"P-physical contact?" stuttered Madeline, blushing profusely.

"Yes Master, so long as some part of me is touching you I can heal you."

"That sounds wonderful," said Madeline, blushing that she had said such a scandalous thing and revealed her passion.

"Indeed, I will keep you from injury and pain as much as I am able to Master, upon my honour," said Arthur ignorant of Madeline's true meaning.

"How big is King's landing?" asked Arthur after they had walked for a time, finding themselves in a poorer area of the city.

"The last census done had the number at over five hundred thousand people," said Madeline.

"That many?" marvelled Arthur. "To have so many people in one place, the logistics of feeding them, and keeping sanitation in the city sets my mind spinning. Then there's the upkeep of the roads, ensuring the ports can handle the shipping and receiving of goods. It makes me wonder how they divided the city for different functionaries to handle the work of," said Arthur pausing at the amused look on Madeline's face.

"Apologies for my rambling Master, old habits I fear."

"To me it seems more than ramblings. That you keep more than just your sword sharp," said Madeline.

"A ship that is too heavy on one side is too unstable and sure to capsize Master."

"So you can read and write then?" asked Madeline. "And know your numbers?"

"I can read, write, and speak 4 languages Master, and I have a good understanding of mathematics."

"Actually that's another question I have for you. How can we understand each other? I'm sure that one of those four languages isn't the common tongue of Westeros is it?"

"No Master it is not. It is another gift of being a servant. I am given knowledge that I would otherwise never hope to know. It would not do for a master to summon a servant and have neither understand the other."

"I suppose not," agreed Madeline.

"Master, what does the city do for the poor within its walls?" asked Arthur, looking at the dirty, sullen faces that watched them as they walked through the streets. Many looked gaunt and hungry, especially the children. Dirty and furtive, they seemed to avoid the septa and finely dressed Arthur, with a cheap sword on his hip, or else shake begging bowls. Complaining of different ailments and malady's. Asking for charity and pity in equal measure, but Arthur had no coin to give, and they had little food left with which to give, though they did what they could.

The sewers here ran above ground in the gutters, making the air smell of piss and excrement, though it seemed to bother Madeline little, having grown used to such smells in service of the Sept, and Arthur having smelled much worse in both his time alive and as a servant. Though they still kept to the centre of the road to avoid the refuse.

"Oh, I quite lost myself in conversation," said Madeline. "We're in Flea Bottom right now, the poorest district. The sept has beds and food for the needy, but sadly we lack the resources and funding to have all that we require to help. There are others who offer aid, but none of them are able to provide all that is needed."

"Yet they spend such a lavish amount on the winner's purse of a tourney when such poverty exists within sight of the castle?"

"Yes. Did you not also hold tourneys?"

"Not when my people went to bed hungry, or lived in such squalor, and the purses they won were small. The victors winning more honour than coin in the events that they competed in."

"The winning purse of the tourney would be by an order of magnitude greater than what WillowBirch would need to rebuild and hire protection. We could donate the rest of the winnings to charity here in King's Landing. I know of many who could put the money to good use. What say you my noble knight?"

"I say that is a most wonderful idea Master, and one worthy of victory. Upon my sword Excalibur I promise you that I shall emerge victorious."

"Then our pact is made," said Madeline happily.

AN: I'm doing another update with a short chapter, because I have to go to work in a more remote location for a while and wanted to get this out, though I should have a new laptop in a couple of weeks. I hope I'm doing Arthur justice, and not overdoing or underdoing (Word? Likely not.) any part of his personality. Trying to keep him formal, a paragon of knightly virtue, but still struggling with self-doubt. I always found Arthur and Artoria inspiring in the show and I'm trying to capture that here. Anyways, let me know what you guys would like to see and who you think would make good servants. I've got a few ideas, but I welcome input. As always, leave a review and thanks for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

"No horse, no tourney armour, no entry," said the portly official behind the registry desk. He was balding at the top of his head and a second chin was forming under his first. No doubt on account of his love of mutton and the most work he did all day was copying texts, or taking down names. Evidenced by his ink stained fingers and the deft grace with which he used the quill pen clutched between his fingers.

"What do you mean tourney armour? He's wearing armour right now," said Madeline, and gestured to the gleaming silvery steel plate that covered Arthur's body from head to toe.

"That armour is too light. It's more suited for battle than tourney jousting," rebutted the official. "If he wants to compete he needs a harness, and a horse."

"How can it be suited for battle and not jousting? That's one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard!"

"Because a harness means that your brave ser knight here doesn't die when Jaime Lannister or the Mountain knock him on his ass. Now please Septa, there are other's in line."

"Knock _him_ down?!" sputtered Madeline furiously. "I'll have you know that Arthur here could beat every knight here with one arm tied behind his back and blindfolded! Including Jaime Lannister!"

"My lady, please, there is no need to make a scene. We will find another way," placated Arthur.

"I'm not making a scene!" said Madeline hotly, rounding on the King of Knights. "I'm only trying to make this dunce see reason!"

"Dunce?!" fumed the portly man behind the registry table. "One more word out you and both of you will be banned from the tourney grounds, much less be competing. Now either come back with a horse and harness set of armour, or get out of my sight! In fact, if you don't have a horse and harness you won't be competing at all in anything!"

"As you say, and I beg your pardon for the outburst sir. I pray you take it for the words spoken without thought that they are, rather than directed insult which they seem."

"Just get going," huffed the man, turning to the next knight in line seeking to be registered for the tourney, Madeline still flushed with anger.

"What a clod!" fumed Madeline, once they were away from the registry table and back at their own tent at the furthest edge of the tourney grounds reserved for knights without family connections or money. Their tent was a dull grey thing that flew no banners and bore no heraldry. While other tents had time honoured crests and coat of arms with colourful pennants fluttering proudly in the breeze. While other knights had mighty and proud destrier or coursers out front, proud horses of war with fine pedigrees, Arthur and Madeline had a stubborn old ass greedily eating grass. "What is this business about a harness suit? You are not a horse, and you already have a fine set of armour, better than any that they would wear."

"He only does as he is bid to prevent unnecessary injury or loss of life Master," said Arthur calmly. "A harness is tourney armour, thicker and heavier to better absorb the repeated blows of lances and keep the wearer from harm. It is too heavy and restrictive to use in actual battle despite the protection it offers, which is why it is restricted to use in tourneys where the distance to walk while wearing it is from bench to saddle."

Madeline merely crossed her arms and nibbled at her cheeks, letting out a frustrated snort as fury still swirled about inside of her.

"It's still stupid," said Madeline finally. "Not like any of them could actually hurt you anyways."

"Maybe not, but when I held tourneys I demanded much the same of those who wished to enter. A tournament is meant as a spectacle for the common people, and a chance for knights to test their skills against one another in honourable competition. No one is supposed to be hurt in a tournament, much less lose their life. I may not be able to enter the competition anymore, but we will find another way Master. Of that you have my word."

"But the winner's purse and recognition is what we needed from the jousting," said Madeline, anger draining from her voice. Leaving her instead sounding and looking very tired, worn out would be a better way of putting it. Travelling rations and having been on the move constantly was tiring enough on a person, more so now that she was sustaining both herself and Arthur. "We could done so much with the winner's purse, and even be granted an audience with the King. We could have plead our case directly to him and...and," said Madeline faltering, eyes losing focus and face losing some of its pallor.

In an instant Arthur was at her side and guiding her to the back of their empty cart, before gently helping her to sit. The grumbling of Madeline's stomach making itself well know.

"Sorry, I haven't eaten yet today," said Madeline, voice sounding subdued.

"Here, Master," said Arthur, holding out some of the smoked fish that they still had from WillowBirch.

"It's alright, you need to eat too. You say that you don't, but your belly rumbles the same as mine when you don't."

'I've already eaten today Master, and besides we have plenty left in the cart. Please, eat."

"Well, if we have plenty left," said Madeline, and began to eat the smoked fish. Colour returning to her face as she did so and Arthur willing his stomach not to growl while she did so. He hadn't eaten today, or yesterday either, and while it was true that he didn't need to eat to survive, his stomach still demanded food and would pain him the same as when he had been alive if he was hungry and did not eat. They also did not have much food remaining. Indeed, they had enough for three of four more days at most which was indeed plenty for Madeline for the time being, so long as he didn't eat any. Still, they needed food and to get food they needed money, for Arthur would not steal or take what he had not earned.

"I must confess that I truly did wish to see you joust," admitted Madeline, wiping at her mouth with a cloth kerchief.

"Then joust I shall Master."

"But you don't have the right armour or a horse. Or even lances for that matter," said Madeline. "Or can you make those too?" asked the septa curiously.

"I do not Master, and I do not think that it would be wise to experiment where we are to see if I can, though I even doubt my ability to do so."

"No, I suppose not," said Madeline sheepishly. "But you believe that you can still joust? How?"

"I have a few ideas Master, but you should rest first. You haven't had a proper sleep since we left WillowBirch. It is quiet here so far removed from the rest of the tents. I believe that your rest will be undisturbed and peaceful."

"I suppose I do feel weary," admitted Madeline.

"Would you like me to draw some fresh water for you first Master? Anything I can get for you?"

"No, it's alright. Sleep will be all I require for now. You should rest too," said Madeline.

"I will rest when I have secured what I need. Come now Master, you look exhausted."

It didn't take long for Madeline to fall asleep. Indeed, the moment her head touched her bedroll she was fast asleep, breathing peacefully as the troubles of the past few days seemed to flee from her face. She was strong for a mage, incredibly strong to sustain a heroic spirit as powerful as Arthur by herself, yet such a thing without training no matter the power of the mage would still take its toll. Arthur owed his current freedom from his torment to her, and if she wished to see him joust, he would joust. He would not disregard his honour to see it happen, but his pride he would shed like a cloak on a hot summer's day to see her wish fulfilled.

Xxx

"Ha hah ha!" go beg somewhere else hedge knight, there are no scraps of steel here for you!"

"As you say good Ser, thank you for your time. You honour me with-" Arthur stopped as a goblet of wine struck off his breastplate, splashing up onto his face and staining his blue tunic.

"There's a drink for your honour, now fuck off!" cursed the knight whom Arthur had asked if he had any spare armour pieces that he could use. Even a spare tourney lance that he would be willing to part with. To be repaid in full for the privilege of course once the tournament was concluded.

"My apologies for troubling you Ser," said Arthur after a pause, suffering rejection for the hundredth time, from as many knights and giving a short bow, before leaving the frontage of the knight's tent. No lord had deigned to see him, nor would their knights stand to see him given the chance to speak were he to stumble across one in his travels. He had no name worth knowing, no renown in these lands, and came to these knights as a beggar.

"Friend, come share our fire," called out a knight in simple armour to Arthur, surrounded by a half-dozen or so other poor knights. "They possessed no tents, and the tourney armour they had was old and battered, mended many times over passed what would have been considered safe for actual use. Yet, they all had horses, swords, tourney lances, and what. They also had food roasting over the flames, the smell of which was enticing and caused Arthur's stomach to growl with angry demand.

"I thank you for the courtesy," said Arthur, taking a seat on a log that they had dragged to serve as a bench around their fire. "I am Ser Arthur Pendragon, may I know your names as well?"

"Well I'm Ser Robert, just not the kingly one," snorted the knight with laughter. "This large and fine specimen of a man here is Ser Edgar, and the tall man with no meat on his bones is Ser Doyle. Then there's Ser Edward and Ser Edward, don't bother trying to tell them apart, because I sure can't," said Ser Robert. "And lastly, the little man here is Ser Paul. Recently just became a knight too, was my squire wouldn't you know?"

"Are you hungry at all friend?" asked Ser Edgar, the large man fanning cool air onto himself with a fan that looked eastern in origin.

Before Arthur could refuse the offer, his belly rumbled again loudly, answering for him.

"Sounds like he is," said Ser Doyle, the lanky knight with ginger hair taking a leg of mutton off the spit and handing it to Arthur. "Here, take a bite or you might end up looking like me."

"It's a terrible fate, I wouldn't wish it upon anyone," said Ser Robert, brown eyes twinkling with mirth.

"You honour me," said Arthur humbly.

"Honour? My dear Ser, we're just feeding you is all. We've all been pissed on by landed knights enough times that the stink will never come out. Hedge knights have to look out for each other after all. What are you asking about for anyways? Your armour looks of fine make at least."

"It is, but it is the only set I possess. A set of tourney armour and a horse is what I require to enter," said Arthur, swallowing the mouthful of mutton he had dug into greedily.

"Better luck getting into the pleasure houses of Lys for free than getting charity from those stuffy Sers my friend. Hey, I meant no offence good Ser, I know that some of us take our oaths more seriously than others and I didn't mean to present assumption."

"The fault is mine, I should not be so quick to take offence at a turn of phrase," said Arthur apologetically, the dark look having left his face.

"It's alright friend, us hedge knights have little but our honour and for some of us it's the most precious thing we own. I may not have much, but I have never stolen, never raped, never killed an innocent, _and_ I defended a woman's virtue from wildlings during my time in the North."

"You took it right back though," said Ser Edward, the one on the right for what it was worth since both of the men looked identical down to the armour that they wore.

"Well, I mean, she _was_ grateful," said Ser Robert, something like a blush coming onto his face.

"And you weren't going bald back then. Looked half like a knight then," said Ser Paul, the smallest and youngest of the knights with startlingly blue eyes.

"The disrespect!" said Ser Robert, feigning insult. "I must surely have failed as a tutor to you young Ser Paul!"

"Yup," said the younger knight, before both he and his older mentor chuckled.

"Any reason in particular you're looking to get into the tourney?" asked the other Ser Edward.

"My Lady wishes to see me joust," said Arthur, pausing as the assembled hedge knights gave each other a knowing look.

"An endeavour that every man can understand then," said Ser Robert grinning.

"She is also a septa," added Arthur.

"Oh," said all the assembled knights at once.

"Bugger," said Ser Doyle simply.

"Then are you jousting for money, or hoping for a lord to take you on as a landed knight?" asked Ser Robert.

"Neither. My Lady and I wish to use the money of the winner's purse to help the people of WillowBirch recover from a bandit attack, and use the rest to help the poor of King's Landing."

"You're entering in the primaries then?" asked Ser Doyle surprised, the ginger night pausing from his meal.

"Indeed. The winner's purse is the only sum sizable enough to do what my lady and I wish to do."

"So you don't want the money for yourself then?" asked Ser Robert.

"Not when there are those more needy that I," answered Arthur. "The gleam of gold can not drive away the shame of selfishness that would surely cover me were I to keep it all for myself."

"You know," said Ser Robert slowly studying Arthur. "If anyone else had told me that, I would have laughed or else just thought they were preening themselves at how noble they are. But you, I believe you."

"Your faith is well received, as if your hospitality, but I fear without patronage I will never see the jousting arena. Not from the saddle at least."

"Maybe, maybe not," said Ser Robert slowly. "Well, I don't have much, but I do have an extra lance," said Ser Robert, handing one of four tourney lances he had to Arthur. "Not like I'm going use more than one, maybe two anyways."

"I can't accept that, you have so little already," said Arthur at the unexpected generosity.

"Like I said Ser Arthur, us hedge knights have so little that our honour is the most precious thing we own. You would not refuse a gift once offered would you?" asked Ser Robert.

"No, of course not," said Arthur, only to have the wooden lance tossed into his lap.

"Then take it already," said the hedge knight smiling.

"Do you have a shield?" asked Ser Edgar, pausing from his fanning for a moment.

"Regrettably I do not," said Arthur.

"Can't joust without a shield," said Ser Edgar reaching behind him and pulling out a battered and old wooden shield. "Hasn't let me down yet, and it should be able to take a few more good thumps yet."

"You'll need to reserve your name on the list too, they stop taking names at midday for the primaries," said one of the Edwards. "Only got a few coppers though, what about the rest of you lot?"

The rest of the hedge knights found their coin purses and took out what they thought they could give without going hungry, putting the coins into Arthur's hands, his protests falling on deaf ears.

"The lords money is good enough for you, but ours isn't?" asked Ser Robert playfully.

"I did not mean for...thank you," said Arthur bowing his head in respect and smiling sincerely. "I swear to you on my honour as a knight I will repay each and every one of you a thousand fold for what you have given to me today."

"Well then you had better go hurry and reserve a spot and hope you find a horse and armour, because that's money you don't get back if you drop out. Go on, they close up soon."

"Gratitude again, from one knight to another, I promise that this gift shall not go unrewarded," said Arthur, before taking off the registry.

"If I had looked like that, a lot more maidens would have been grateful," chuckled Ser Robert, grabbing another leg of mutton.

Xxx

"Can I help you?" asked a well dressed man with close trimmed hair and a short, but well maintained moustache and slight beard. Hair showing streaks of grey as he approached his middle years. An expensive dagger sitting on the belt of his tunic. An important man if Arthur had ever seen one, and Arthur had seen many.

"I beg a moment of your time my Lord," said Arthur. "My name is Ser Arthur Pendragon."

"I am not familiar with the name. Who is your lord?"

"I walk under no banner but my own, my Lord."

"A hedge knight then. Do you know who I am?"

"No my Lord I fear I do not."

"I am Lord Baelish, Master of Coin for King Robert Baratheon and as such have grown quite accustomed to men shaking their tin cups at me, so shake yours and say what you must if it means you will no longer accost me. Or have I misunderstood your intentions?"

"No, you have not misunderstood my intentions," said Arthur, the shame of the barb and the act of begging gnawing at him. "I seek patronage for the Hand's Tournament. A horse and set of armour is all I require to enter Lord Baelish."

"Just a horse and armour you say? Do you need training as well and a squire?"

"I have skill enough and I have no need of a squire," said Arthur embarassed.

"And why would I give coin to such a knight hmm? One with no name, no horse, a shiny suit of armour that has seen no battle, and a piece of scrap that he calls a blade?" demanded Lord Baelish.

"I would fight for your honour my Lord, and half of my winnings would go to you for your patronage. I would dedicate my victories to you and bring you glory in the coming days. This I swear on my honour as a knight."

"On your honour you say? What can I buy with your honour? Can I take it to the butcher and get a slab of beef or the wine merchant for a cask of Dornish Red?"

"No...my Lord."

"Then you have my answer," said Baelish.

"Thank you for your time Lord Baelish," said Arthur, moving out of the way of the Master of Coin as he strode past, heading for the largest tent on the tourney grounds, the one belonging to King Robert Baratheon.

Arthur looked to the sky and the red glow of the setting sun. If he wasn't on the tourney list by the time it set, he would not be in primaries, and would be unable to fulfill his master's wishes. He would fail her, just as he had failed everyone else. The thought threatened to seize his chest and tear its way out of his breast in savage fury. The clink of coins dragged Arthur out of his own thoughts and he turned to the sound.

A knight that towered over Arthur by at least six inches and had half of his face horribly burned, leaving a patch that looked like burned leather by his mouth to reach halfway up the mottled side of his face. Hair grew in scraggly clumps on that side of his head that had been touched by flame, falling in lank strands over his face. His face seemed to be set in a permanent scowl, but not as a result of the scars on his face, at least not physically. A large bastard sword was strapped to his back, but he was not the one clinking the coins together. No, that was his charge.

A young boy on the cusp of entering manhood with golden hair and fine clothes sporting lions on the breast was tossing a coin purse lightly into the air and catching it as it came back down for a rattle of gold and silver.

"So you need gold then do you?" asked the boy looking at the coins in his hand, as if contemplating giving them to Arthur. "I could give you that. A horse and armour too."

"My Lord, that would be," began Arthur.

"Is that how you address your Crown Prince?" demanded the boy, anger darkening his face. "I had thought of sponsoring you, but if you possess not even the most basic of courtesies then I think I will reconsider."

"Forgive me your highness for my ignorance," said Arthur sinking to a bended knee and bowing his head to the prince.

"That's better, but forgiveness is a lot to ask," said the boy airily, that Arthur now recognized to be Joffrey Baratheon. Heir to King Robert Baratheon and the Iron Throne.

"A lapse of judgment your highness, I meant no offence."

"If your mind is so simple as to lapse in this, how am I to know that it will not do the same on the tourney grounds?"

"You have my word that it will not your highness," said Arthur.

"Your word. What else do I get besides your word?" asked Joffrey, circling Arthur, clinking his coins and his scarred bodyguard watching Arthur intently for any signs of violence.

"I would bring you glory and-"

"Glory? Glory from a hedge knight? I don't think you would know glory if you found it in the pig shit you sleep in," spat Joffrey and Arthur remained silent, biting his tongue at the insult.

"I do suppose that charity is a good quality for a king, if done in measured doses. What say you hedge knight?"

"Generosity is a virtue that all knights are sworn to aspire to your highness," answered Arthur tonelessly.

"You're right. It is," said Joffrey and extended a hand towards Arthur. One bestowed with a golden ring emblazoned with a lion on it. "Kiss it, and you can have my patronage," said Joffrey.

Slowly, Arthur lifted his head and kissed the golden right upon the prince's hand.

"Thank you your highness, I will dedicate every victory I win to your name."

"Good, I'm sure I can do something everything that you will win. There is another virtue that knights aspire to though isn't there?" asked Joffrey looking away like he was trying to think of it, but the gleam in his eye spoke of the mockery he was about to set forth.

"There are many virtues that knights aspire to your highness," said Arthur, preparing himself for the boy's game.

"Yes, but there's one in particular that I'm trying to think of. What was it, what was it," pondered the prince aloud.

"Humility is a virtue is it not? One that all knights are to aspire to achieve?"

"It is your highness," said Arthur.

"Then I wish to test your virtue," said Joffrey pushing his right leather booted foot forward. "Kiss it. You've already kissed my ring, this is not much different is it?"

Anger rushed up into Arthur, at the humiliation that this boy was forcing him to endure. He was still a knight, even if an impoverished one and was due at least the most basic of courtesy. To force any man to kiss your boot was to show that you thought less of them than a dog. Than a rat scurrying around in the gutters among the shit and refuse. Arthur would not to be demeaned in such a manner. No man deserved to be demeaned in such a way, especially not for the amusement of an arrogant boy! And yet, he had sworn to himself that he would shed his pride like a cloak on a hot summer's day if it meant fulfilling his master's wishes, and it was his pride now that rebelled at the thought of this humiliation. He had sworn that he would joust and if this is what it took to joust honourably, he would endure it. Slowly, Arthur lowered his head to kiss the leather boot of the prince.

"What are you doing?" demanded Joffrey. "That is much too far a distance to lean down, you'll hurt your back. Lay on your stomach and kill my boot," said Joffrey and Arthur stayed still for a moment, before lowering himself down to his stomach, and kissing the leather of the boot.

"Look at that Dog, there is another to keep you company in the kennel," said Joffrey to his bodyguard.

"Maybe one to lick the shit from my heels," said the scarred knight.

"Yet he has been an obedient mutt, and I did promise him patronage. Come along mutt, your reward awaits," said Joffrey gesturing for Arthur to follow which he did. For his Master's happiness, he would pay any price.

He followed the crown prince to the King's Tent, and the royal smithy that was a handful of steps away from it.

Hanging from racks and adorning stands were many fine suits of armour, lances, and tourney swords decorating the walls. Most emblazoned proudly with the stag of House Baratheon bearing the royal crown around its neck. Joffrey headed towards an especially fine suit of armour that was painted a deep forest green in Arthur's size, and looked at it for a moment like he was going to take it from its rack. Then, the crown prince kept walking. He walked past racks of other armour and weapons, stopping at the end in front of a suit of high quality armour. I this this will do," said Joffrey, before opening a chest at the edge of the tent and upending it.

Spare sets of greaves, bracers, gauntlets, helmets, and all manner of armour pieces came tumbling out and onto the grass as she did so in a clatter of steel. No two pieces of armour matching as they rolled onto the ground. Dented, rusted, or otherwise having some fault with them, if not entirely too small or too large for Arthur. They were clearly spares, or else surviving pieces of older sets that had yet to have their steel repurposed into more useful things.

"Well? Aren't you happy with your gift?" asked the Prince smirking, the scarred knight standing a little straighter behind the prince as if expecting a fight.

"You kept your word your highness, for that I am grateful," said Arthur humbly sinking to one knee and bowing his head, surprising the young prince who had seemed like he had been hoping for a more violent outburst, or to see the dismay on Arthur's face at the poor reward. Instead he received stoic courtesy and an unfazed knight.

"Yes, well, it is a kingly thing to do," said Joffrey tossing a sheet of burlap for onto the ground for Arthur to bundle up his new 'armour'.

"Indeed it is your highness. You also said that you had a horse for me?" asked Arthur.

"I did. Gather your armour mutt and follow."

"As you say your highness."

Arthur gathered the armour pieces into a functional suit more or less, and followed behind the prince to a circle pen of horses. Immediately Arthur could immediately tell that they were not tourney horses. Yearling horses, they were green broke, if that and entirely untrained in jousting.

"Dog, give the mutt a horse and let's be on our way. I grow tired of this," said Joffrey sounding frustrated as Arthur maintained his stoic expression. "Actually, give him that one," said Joffrey pointing to a particularly unruly buckskin, that kicked and bucked as they drew closer to it.

"Fucking bitch," cursed the scarred knight as he fought to get the unruly horse to follow him out of the pen, looping a rope around its neck, practically dragging it out. The buckskin kicking and snorting, running itself in circles, whinnying, and throwing its head

"Take it," grunted the scarred man referred to as 'Dog' as he handed the rope to Arthur.

The King of Knights took the lead rope of the rearing horse, standing his ground as it came crashing down to the ground and shook its head, neighing unhappily.

"Calm now," cooed Arthur, holding his hand up to the Buckskin's face. The yearling shaking its head briefly before Arthur shushed it, stroking its face and it calmed itself and became docile, nuzzling Arthur's hand.

Arthur had trained horses for a long time in his life, but he could feel that this was more than that. That it was one of his skills as a saber class servant.

"Thank you for the armour and the horse your highness, I will use them proudly in your name," said Arthur, giving a formal bow.

"Yes, well, off you go," said Joffrey, clearly upset that his fun had been spoiled.

Xxx

When Madeline woke, she did so with an expansive yawn at the morning sun rising to greet them. She let out a startled yelp as she realized that Arthur was in the tent as well, sleeping soundly mere inches from her. Madeline blushed at the proximity, but that didn't stop her from ogling her knight.

He looked peaceful when he slept, like the worries of the world left him and in his dreams and he was unburdened by whatever it was that troubled him.

 _This is scandalous, it is immoral and wrong,_ repeated Madeline over and over in her mind as she sidled up next to her knight as he slept, the two of them still separated by their wool blankets, but she could still feel the heat of his body through the light covering. He began to stir and in a panic, Madeline feigned sleep as her knight woke. Madeline could hear Arthur rise and begin to move about the tent, getting ready for the day, but pausing and walk over to her.

She felt him grab the top of her blanket and she half wondered what his intentions were, the most scandalous part of her wondering if he would pull it off of her along with her underclothes and have the two of them couple in courtly love, and that same scandalous part of her welcoming the idea. Instead, he pulled the blanket up around her shoulders to keep the morning chill away from her. Tucking in the edges like she was a small child being tucked into bed. Madeline found that she found almost as appealing as what the scandalous part of her had wanted.

Madeline waited several more minutes, before rising herself, feigning rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Good morning Master, did you sleep well?"

"Yes. Overly long I think by the look of things," said Madeline, looking at the rising sun.

"Not too long Master, the jousting is yet to start for another few hours and I was going to check the listings after cooking us breakfast to see when I would start."

Well I-oh you got a horse," said Madeline staring at the buckskin yearling. "And armour, if mismatched," said Madeline looking at the assembled pieces of armour laying on the ground. "What did it cost you to get them?"

"Nothing I was not willing to give Master."

"Well like I was saying, I can finish cooking if you want to go check the listings," said Madeline.

"Master, it is fine I could not ask you to do tha-"

"Scoot, scoot," said Madeline ushering Arthur away from the fire. "Go and check when your turn is."

"As you wish Master," said Arthur with his face stuck in its ever stoic courtesy.

While he was gone, Madeline ensured that the morning soup did not boil over, but while she did that, she traced the outline of the crest that she had seen emblazoned on Arthur's silvery steel armour that he could make appear at will onto a worn wooden shield. Soon a snarling dragon was emblazoned in red paint on the wooden shield.

She was startled by quick footsteps approaching their tent and was surprised to see that it was Arthur running up to the tent.

"Something urgent?" asked Madeline Curiously.

"I am first to joust and they have moved the times forward. I must be ready in twenty minutes," said Arthur, stripping down to his underclothes in front of Madeline who blushed profusely at the sight, but did not look away from the King of Knights muscled form.

While he dressed quickly in his mismatched armour Madeline realized something about him. He was well muscled for sure, the result of years of martial discipline and training, and he had scars of battle on his body from such a life, but all of the scars were on his front. His back was as unmarred and smooth as that of a new born babe, if rippling with iron hard muscle. Because he never turned his back to his enemies realized Madeline with a start. He always faced them head on.

Madeline helped Arthur dress quickly, and soon he was upon his buckskin horse, practice lance in hand and heading for the tourney grounds, Madeline walking at his side. His mismatched armour jangling and rattling as he rode, making quite the racket. Not at all like the form fitting armour of silvery steel that he could make appear from magic.

Madeline had to separate from Arthur when they reached the jousting arena, sitting in the stands with the rest of the small folk viewing the tourney and waited for the tournament to begin.

The opening match, before the primaries was between the last two knights of the preliminaries from the previous days. The jousts for knights unwilling to risk their armour and their horses on a joust, and so the purse they received would be meagre as a result, and had drawn smaller crowds, though had cheaper rates to see. Madeline knew neither of them and cared not who the victor was, and neither did the rest of the crowd it seemed. Even the hedge knights had seemed eager to clear the field as soon as the joust was done.

A few short minutes later saw a master of ceremonies wearing a tunic bearing the stag of the Baratheon Royal family make his way to the centre of the arena. The opening speeches having already been given that everyone had waited through impatiently.

"As the Hand's Tourney commences, the first competitors are as follows. Ser Jaime Lannister, loyal member of the Kingsguard," said the master of ceremonies and Jaime Lannister rode onto the field to the roaring cheers of the crowd. His golden armour shining in the early morning sun, and white cloak flapping proudly in the breeze. His powerful courser completing the impression of a pure golden knight. He saluted the crowd with his lance and took position at the far end of the field. "And Ser Arthur Pendragon. Hedge knight," said the master of ceremonies and Arthur took to the field. His buckskin yearling smaller than Jaime's courser by several hands and his mismatched armour rattling and clanking together as he rode. He was met by raucous laughter and jeering from the crowd. The more bold of which throwing fruit or vegetables at him.

Madeline's anger rose like a fiery froth and she grabbed one laughing man who had his arm cocked back to throw a tomato at Arthur, causing him to look back in time to receive a resounding slap that left Madeline's hand imprinted on his face.

"Show respect heathen!" seethed Madeline, the startled man gaping and unsure of what to do, bewildered even that a septa had struck him. He did put the tomato down though.

When the jeering stopped though, the knights rode ahead and saluted each other, and then the king as they each switched sides on the field. They brought their horses to a stop, the pawing of the beasts kicking up dust as the anticipation to run with all their might built up. As Madeline watched, Arthur looked from the far end of the field to where she was sitting and raised his lance more in salute, setting her heart aflutter.

With a blaring of trumpets, the two knights kicked their horses in the flanks and charged at each other full tilt, lances lowering as the distance closes and there was a shower of wooden splinters as both lances shattered and a spray of dirt as a knight hit the ground. Madeline gasped in shock along with the rest of the crowd, then cheered loudly as Arthur raised the remains of his lance in a salute as was proper as he passed the unhorsed Jaimie Lannister, turning again and saluting towards the royal booth, the Crown Prince looking decidedly unhappy at the outcome of the joust.

Madeline cheered loudly again as Arthur rode past the viewing stands where she was seated and raised his broken lance in salute again, but to her alone again this time.

Xxx

"Y...you unhorsed Jamie Lannister?" said Ser Robert numbly, glancing to Arthur, then to the white courser and golden armour set attached to it and back to Arthur again. The hedge knight seeming unable to believe the fact.

"I did, and I won many more tourney lances as well," said Arthur, a small playful grin on his face.

"A great victory for you then Ser Arthur, congratulations," said Ser Robert.

"Thank you Ser Robert, but it was with your lance that I struck the victorious blow, so this victory is mine as well as yours."

"Ha!" chuckled Ser Robert. "That piece of wood? Cheapest that they sell, think nothing of it. That horse however, is something to think of. Look at it, magnificent."

"But I think everything of it," said Arthur. "I had nothing but my name and honour, and you had little yourself and yet you gave it to me without thought of reward or return. A man who you knew nothing of other than he was another knight asking for charity. Without that lance, I could not have competed, nor could I have won. So now I keep my word. Repaid, a thousand times over," said Arthur, holding out the reigns of the proud white courser to the hedge knight.

"This is more than a thousand times over Ser Arthur. That armour alone is worth a small fortune and that brand? The Lannisters private stables, you can not buy a horse such as this unless you are a Lannister."

"You said that hedge knights value their honour more than anything else did you not Ser Robert? Well so do I, and I always keep the promises that I make. You would not refuse a gift once offered would you?" asked Arthur.

"No. No I don't think I would," said Ser Robert dumbly, taking the reigns of the courser, and gazing at the riches in both coin and armour it carried. Its very saddle inlaid with silver and gold. "But the difference in value," trailed off the knight.

"Is of no consequence. You gave all that you could, and now so do I. The trade is a fair one. You are an honourable man Ser Robert, I hope you know that. I look forward to seeing you again, and please let the others know that I have not forgotten their aid as well. As soon as I win more jousts I will repay them in kind just the same. We should talk again later, but for now I must return to the tourney grounds. I would also like you to meet My Lady, so long as you remember your bawdy humour is best left around your fire and away from a lady's ears."

"I will remember it, y...Ser Arthur," said Ser Robert and watched Arthur ride away in a clatter of ill-fitting armour. Ser Robert didn't know why, but he had felt the overwhelming urge to call the young knight your grace. The same courtesy that he would have afforded Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms. Yet this was not a forced courtesy, rather something he had felt proper to say. The only thing to say. Strange.

AN: Well I went and bought a laptop on sale, because I remembered my new job pays a lot more money, so I should be able to update fairly frequently. I had this whole scene in my head which made it easy to write which is nice. As always, thanks for reading and please leave a review.


	4. Chapter 4

In contrast to the jousting competition where the crowd roared and cheered at every action, the archery contest was oddly subdued, though it was later in the day and the spectators were stuffed with food and drink. They held the archery contest before the jousting had progressed too far, lest too many participants become injured and unable to take part, because of the more dangerous sport of jousting.

Whereas Arthur felt he rush of excitement and adrenaline charging on the back of a horse, he felt nothing bot calm with a bow in his hands. Indeed, what English boy did not learn how to master the long bow that they now placed in his hands? Truth be told it was the Welsh who were the true masters of the bow in England, but Arthur had spent a great deal of time in Wales during his tutelage. And during his tutelage, had taken to practice the bow in his spare time. A way to relax from his lessons in Latin, mathematics, and theology. It was a mistake indeed to challenge an Englishman to an archery contest. He was already in the finals of the contest

The creak of a bowstring being draw taught was a familiar sound to Arthur, a calming sound to him as his green eyes focused on the target some three hundred yards distant. He slowed his breathing, his heart responding in kind and in between the beats, let the arrow go with a twang of a bow string.

The arrow set with grey goose feathers whistled down the archery range, a solitary dart amid a backdrop of targets, before striking with a muffled thump. Arthur immediately reaching to the quiver on his back and pulling out another which he nocked and readied. For a time he was not in Westeros, not a servant, not a king, and not a knight. He was a boy practising his archery in the shadow of an old castle occupied by the revered wizard Merlin who had become his most beloved teacher. Arthur felt at peace.

When his hand felt an empty quiver, the dream ended as all dreams must and Arthur awoke once more to the reality that he found himself in. He also awoke to the reality that he had won the contest. His arrows, even when loosed at such a distance struck the centre of the target so frequently that the new shafts had split the old, allowing a tight cluster to form at the bullseye of the target. Arthur had to admit that his heightened senses of being a servant had allowed him to see the target as clear as if it was no more than a dozen paces away from him, though he did not possess the eyes of an Archer class servant, his were still more than keen enough for what he required of them.

Arthur handed the longbow back to one of the squires who were acting as attendants for the tournament, and followed the other competitors to the podium, where they lined up awaiting the winner to be announced. They needed to still count the points from the archery contest, but Arthur's enhanced vision had allowed him to see that no one else had even come close to his score.

The master of ceremonies called the third and second place runner ups for the archery contest and they rose to the wooden podium, Arthur clapping along with the others as they received their medals and the smaller purses for their achievements.

"And the winner of the archery contest, Ser Arthur Pendragon," called out the Master of ceremonies and Arthur rose to the highest podium to cheers from the crowd.

He had started out as the underdog and indeed the most ridiculed of the competitors in the lists. It was not entirely unexpected either, for he had entered the jousting grounds on a horse more pony than warhorse wearing ill-fitting scrap that one would deign to call armour if they were feeling generous. An unknown knight of no renown and no repute. Yet as the sun had streaked across the sky, Arthur too had risen ever higher in the lists. His initial victory against Jaime Lannister had seen no shortage of knights willing to challenge him, many accusing him of at best blind luck, and at worst cheating. Yet despite the myriad of knights that had challenged Arthur all they had succeeded in doing was increasing his fame, adding their mounts to his stable of horses and collection of armour sets.

Arthur had also rewarded the rest of the hedge knights who had allowed him the chance to compete. Giving fine coursers and destriers to the Ser Edwards, Ser Doyle, Ser Paul, and Ser Edgar. The poor hedge knights now finding themselves moderately wealthy with fine tourney armour and horses they could either sell or use.

Yes, he had started out as the laughingstock of the tourney, but now found himself the crowd favourite. The unknown hedge knight arriving without a horse to his name unseating and defeating the greatest knights of the realm one at a time? Such a thing was the stuff of song and the small folk loved it. More dangerously though, some whispered that perhaps he was a Lannister bastard raised in secret. With his fair features, gold dust hair, and emerald green eyes Arthur certainly looked the part of a Lannister. Though he was certain that such whispers would not please the true Lannisters and certainly not the Queen. People were also starting to call him the Dragon Knight, because of the snarling dragon that was Camelot's coat of arms on his shield.

Arthur bowed his head and allowed the gold medal to be placed over his head and hand to be raised in victory to the roar of the crowd as he stood triumphant on the podium.

Xxx

"Look at it all," marvelled Madeline at the prize Arthur had won from the archery competition. All 20000 gold dragons of it, the reflection from the gold illuminating the inside of their simple grey tent.

"As I promised my Lady, I shall emerge victorious from any task you set before me, upon my honour," said Arthur inclining his head respectfully.

"Oh my gallant knight!" cooed Madeline, embracing the King of Knights in a hug. "We shall be able to feed all the poor of King's landing for a year with this amount! And beds and clean clothes too for the orphanages! Oh, they've made due with so little for so long this will truly be a blessing," continued Madeline giddily. "Do you think we'll have enough to get them toys as well? Or even pay to apprentice them to craftsman in the city? Maybe this isn't enough for all of that and WillowBirch?" questioned Madeline, worry making its way into her voice.

"If the amount present is insufficient than the winnings from the jousting lists will more than make up the difference Master."

"Oh, of course I had nearly forgotten," said Madeline beaming. "I am not asking too much of you though am I Ser Arthur? You're not tired are you? Am I giving you enough, uh, mana?" asked Madeline, voice quieting at the word.

"Everything you have provided is more than enough Master, and I draw upon your magic as little as possible. You may never fear asking too much of me, for all that I have is yours to take and do with as you see fit. I follow your commands from this day to the end of days so long as we continue to act with honour as we have been."

"That warms my heart to hear," said Madeline blushing, the two of them having been speaking in lower tones so that the hedge knights that now made their own camp around Arthur and Madeline's did not overhear them. "But I do have one question," said Madeline, quieter still.

"Of course Master."

"Why does this mark stay upon my hand? What is the meaning?" asked Madeline, removing one of her gloves to show the red markings in the shape of a sword that seemed to ripple with light.

"Those are your command seals Master. Through them, our contract is solidified."

"But, what do they do? They are magic yes?"

"They are Master, but they also cement your position as my Master."

"How?" asked Madeline curiously.

"On your hand you bear three command seals, each with equal power of absolute control. If you invoke one of them when giving me an order, it would compel me to do whatever you had ordered, no matter whether I wished to do it or not. It would force my hand to motion, whether I desired it to or not. It is the chain with which you may bring me to heel, or else demand I set myself loose. I would act not of my own will, but by yours and yours alone Master. Your puppet to dance at the end of your strings."

"That's...that's horrible," said Madeline, gazing at the seals on the back of her hand in horror. "Why would such a thing exist?"

"Because, when mages summon servants, their ideals and beliefs do not always align. It is the last safeguard of the Master, or their whip to crack when they wish their servant to move to purpose. You forget Master, but you are still yet among the living. The priority is the continued life of the Master. I am already dead, my end would merely return me to what I was before. It would rob me and this world of nothing."

"No!" said Madeline, savagely, but tearfully. "Your heart beats with more worth than any other I have met! Your death would rob me of everything I have left! Everyone I have ever loved is gone, I don't want you to go too," said Madeline, tears beginning to fall, and blue lines of light beginning to trace across her body and so Arthur consoled her.

"I have no plans to depart anytime soon Master, and I shall remain by your side as long as you wish."

"What if I never wish for you to leave?" asked Madeline, head buried in Arthur's chest.

"Then I never shall."

"Ser Arthur I-oh, apologies, I did not mean to intrude," said Ser Robert, half backing out of the tent upon seeing Arthur consoling the weeping Madeline.

"It is alright Ser Knight," said Madeline sniffling, her magical circuits having long since fled from sight. "Talk of charity conjured up memories the Sept and my missionary group. Grief overcame me at the memory. What would you wish of Ser Arthur?"

"Something that could wait my Lady," said Ser Robert backing out of the tent.

"Forgive me for that," said Madeline quietly. "I put us at risk."

"Master, you need never ask me for forgiveness for anything."

"Even yet," said Madeline. "Pay it no more mind, go see what Ser Robert wishes of you," said Madeline.

"As you say Master," said Arthur bowing his head and left the tent.

"I am sorry for her loss," said Ser Robert. "She was the only survivor then?"

"Others from the village survived, but of her missionary cohort, she is all that remains."

"How did you find her then?" asked Ser Robert.

"She called for help and I answered," said Arthur simply.

"Where there many bandits who attacked the village?"

"Around 40, still standing and in fighting condition when I arrived."

"Who was in your company when you arrived then? Or did you just fight with the men of the village at your side?"

"Neither. I came alone and the men who had tried to fight from the village, were either dead or in no condition to fight any longer."

"And you killed them all by yourself?" asked Ser Robert letting out a chuckle that faded under the unwavering gaze of the green eyed knight.

"No. I let six live and told them to never return. After that, I was sworn to Lady Madeline's service and now I follow her where her feet choose to take her."

"I want to say you're lying at that tale, but for the life of me Ser Arthur, I can't help but believe you. I guess I'll just have to start calling you Ser Arthur Dayne reborn. Almost have the same name too, ha!" chuckled Ser Robert in good humour.

"Who is Ser Arthur Dayne?" asked Arthur.

"Who is Ser Arthur Dayne he says," chuckled Ser Robert again. "Never heard of the Sword of Morning then? The greatest swordsman of his era?"

"Forgive me, but I have not," said Arthur. "Was he honourable?"

"Aye, he was. He was very honourable," said Ser Robert.

"Then I accept the comparison warmly. Now, what was the pressing issue that you wished to discuss?"

"Well, me and the lads here were wondering if after the tourney was done if you'd like to travel with us? We were thinking of heaving to the Vale to try and get bounties hunting the hill tribes who prey on travellers. You would be a welcome addition to our group."

"That is a warm offer well received, but my loyalty belongs to my Lady and I follow where she leads. You honour me with the request, but I must decline Ser Robert."

"Then we will have to drink and celebrate to your victory in the tourney Ser Arthur and hope that we meet again soon after."

"Such faith in me Ser Robert? I fear you may make me blush at the praise," said Arthur, letting go of a small smile.

"Oh I doubt it would be that hard to make you blush Ser Arthur, and besides you have to survive the melee first eh? I'll be looking for the skill that a man who claims to have slain some 40 men alone possesses."

"Then I shall not disappoint Ser Robert," said Arthur.

Xxx

For the grand melee, Arthur was dressed once more in his form fitted silvery steel armour, though his helm came from one of his won suits of armour. He used a smaller buckler shield, once more painted with the snarling dragon of Camelot, courtesy of Madeline and he was armed with a simple blunted tourney sword, with another on his hip should he need it.

Before they started, a Septon led them in prayer to the Seven, asking for protection from harm and for each man to display courage and skill. Piously, Arthur sank to a knee and bowed his head closing his eyes. Hands resting on the pommel of his tourney sword stuck in the ground, but he did not pray to the Seven. He prayed to his own God so far away now, and yet always with him.

When their prayers were done Arthur rose and adopted a standard guard, waiting for the grand melee to begin. With a blare of trumpets it did and over a hundred and fifty knights converged on each other with blunted weapons and ferocious cries.

One came for Arthur, a knight he had unseated in a joust previously. Arthur side stepped a powerful swing, his own blunted blade striking twice off of the armoured head of the knight, before he swept the legs of the dazed and now defeated knight sending him crashing down to the dirt below.

A knight with a blunted spear with came from behind Arthur and tried to jab him with it, but Arthur turned, moving with the thrust and catching the out thrust shaft of the spear. Pulling it and the knight forwards off balance and swinging him to the ground. Jabbing him in the helm with his own blunted spear and eliminating him from melee in one fell swoop.

A trio of knights came for Arthur then all at once. One wielding a two-handed great sword while his fellows sported sword and shield. Instead of falling back as they had expected, Arthur charged and met them head on, duelling all three at once.

In such close proximity they were more a danger to each other than to Arthur. Arthur having only to move out of the way of the swung blades to put one of his attackers at risk from his fellows attack. Arthur used only the bare amount of mana that he needed to move and breathe, so in this battle he fought very much like the man he had been when he had still had true blood in his veins. Yet when he had been just a man, he had still been of prodigal skill tempered in years of war as these knights were quickly discovering and in a matter of heartbeats three more knights lay defeated before Arthur and then he was onto the next.

He moved and weaved with all the skill and speed of a master swordsman, using his sword and shield to both block and attack in seamless transitions like they were merely attachments of his own body and no one could stand before him for more than a handful of strokes.

A man with a flaming sword attacked Arthur, bewildering him for a moment, before he fell into the rhythm of battle, blocking a thrust with his shield and countering quickly, eliminating the man from the melee as his back struck the dirt, though he had lit Arthur's shield ablaze.

Arthur turned to a new opponent, the knight with the scarred face who had been guarding the crown prince when Arthur had seen him last. Yet as Arthur squared up on him, readying his sword, he saw nothing but white faced terror on the man's face. The whites of his eyes showing as he stared at the blazing shield on Arthur's arm.

Arthur charged, yet the man hardly defended himself, protecting his head, but letting Arthur strike him in the torso in a quick flurry of blows eliminating him from the melee. Without a word, the man still white-faced with terror turned and quickly left the arena, leaving Arthur more confused than triumphant at another victory.

Arthur defeated a score of more knights, and then realized that he was among the last of the knights in the melee. He recognized Ser Loras duelling with another knight in a white cloak, but he did not recognize the other knight who wore the armour of the Kings Guard. It was not Jaime Lannister, and Arthur knew not the names of the others.

With youthful inexperience Ser Loras over extended himself, leaving an opening that the white cloaked knight exploited. With a clash of blunted steel on steel, Ser Loras in his exquisitely gilded armour was sent crashing to the dirt below defeated. Arthur having waited for the duel to finish and casting aside his shield that refused to extinguish with a fire hungrier than he had ever seen.

He and the other knight said not a word to each other as they squared up on each other, though Arthur was surprised when he realized the advanced age of the other knight. If Arthur had to describe him, he would have called him elderly, but with the vigour of a younger man still propelling him forwards. Then they came together and clashed swords.

He was not an easy victory like the other ones, or even a hard one. Fighting like a normal man as he was, Arthur could not beat him. Their blades moved in blurs of silver, exchanging blows with a clash of steel at dizzying speeds. Arthur finding no hole in the man's defence which to exploit and the man finding none in his.

They exchanged blows nonstop for a solid minute, the tempo growing faster and faster as each sought to outdo the other, yet each failing to do so and Arthur refusing to use more mana. The crowd having fallen silent at the duel taking place before them, outshining any other. Still, Arthur was younger, stronger, and his stamina was far greater than the seasoned knight, even if he had not been a servant.

With another clash of steel, Arthur opened a chink in the man's flawless guard and sought to exploit it. Going in for a finishing blow, Arthur aimed for his helmeted head to end it in one strike. Yet, in a movement that belied his age, the elderly knight dodged in what Arthur now realized had been a feint of weakening and from his offhand came a second blade towards Arthur's unprotected helm. Arthur not seeing it until it was too late.

Acting on reflex, Arthur called upon mana to speed his movements and dodged the blow in the nick of time. Or, almost did. There was the tiniest clink of steel on steel as the rounded tip of the knight's blade scraped across the front of Arthur's oversized helmet that had wobbled forwards at his quick movement. A blow no one but they had seen, and one that doubtlessly no one would ever count.

Arthur retreated several steps, adopting his guard yet again and noticed that his opponent was breathing hard, yet still holding his now two swords steady. At the pace they had been duelling, even a younger man would be exhausted and he would have won had Arthur not used that burst mana at the last minute. Arthur found that the idea of continuing after doing what he considered cheating against such a proud knight intolerable. Especially when he had landed, and should have landed a blow that would have him declared the winner. The older knight clearly seemed ready to continue and was surprised when Arthur sheathed his own blade and held up two fingers. Arthur yielded to the older knight.

The crowd erupted in applause and cheered the knight's name.

"Barristan the Bold! Barristan the Bold!" cheered the crowd and Arthur walked up to the older knight, raising the man's hand in victory.

"You fought well," huffed Ser Barristan, his breathing already returning to normal. "Why did you yield?"

"You struck a blow to the head. That is a victory Ser Barristan," said Arthur.

"That was hardly more than a tap, no one would have known but us," said Ser Barristan.

"Yes, but I would have known and the shame of trying to claim a victory when I was already defeated would sour any glory I hoped to gain. I also think of it as a valuable lesson learned not to underestimate a fellow knight."

"You did fall for that feint quite easily," said Ser Barristan.

"To my embarrassment I did," said Arthur. "Are you jousting? I have not seen you on the lists."

"No, I am to defend the King. I am honestly surprised that they let me compete in the grand melee as it is."

"A pleasant surprise and a welcome addition then Ser Barristan. I have not had such a duel in a long time."

"Nor have I," said Ser Barristan. "Your skill with a sword is impressive. You remind me of someone in fact, a good friend."

"Then I hope to meet this friend that you speak so highly of."

"If we could raise the dead I could make it so, but I doubt that either of us possess the ability."

"Ah. My condolences and apologies then Ser Barristan. Still, I must thank you for the duel." 

"And I must thank you, but I think that you'd find were I thirty years younger you would be the one out of breath and not I."

"I don't doubt it Ser Barristan."

"A word of caution then, the dragon crest you carry on your shield has soured the mood of the king considerably. The deeper he delves into his cups the more it incenses him as a result. It reminds him too much of the Targaryens and their like."

"I carry it on my breast as well Ser Barristan," said Arthur gesturing to his breastplate of silvery steel, bearing the royal crest of Camelot. "I am truly sorry if it causes the King grief, but I have carried this crest proudly all of my life and so I shall continue to carry it proudly still."

"Then I pray you continue to carry it with honour Ser Arthur," said Ser Barristan.

"It is one of my fondest wishes that I continue to do so Ser Barristan. Now then, I fear I must prepare again for the lists."

"I wish you luck in your coming jousts then Ser Arthur," said Ser Barristan. "You seem to be becoming quite the crowd favourite."

"I now fear I must quicken my retreat Ser Barristan, lest you inflate my head overmuch with your praise and I become unable to remain upright on my horse. I pray we are able to talk more after the tournament is finished."

"If I have my way we will Ser Arthur."

"Then until that time Ser Barristan."

xxx

Arthur was one of the last four competitors in the jousting tourney and he could see why his opponent had received his nickname. The Mountain that Rides. The man was an absolute giant, able to make a man of even Lancelot's size seem small by comparison. Standing at an impossible 8 feet tall, Arthur doubted that he even considered what he was wearing tourney armour. As they had passed each other by in salute, the breast plate had appeared almost an inch thick at its thickest. Arthur doubted even an actual lance wielded by a normal man would be able to get through that much armour. The strength alone to wear and move in such armour had to be enormous.

The sun was arcing high into the sky, and in a few short hours would begin to set. It had been a good turnout for the tournament, yet Arthur couldn't help but feel disappointed with the knights themselves. There were a few exceptions that stood out of course. Men which had warmed Arthur's breast to meet. Men who believed in the oaths that they took, but the majority of the knights here seemed to use the title of knight as no more than a stepping stone to greater power or wealth, Their oaths and words being just that. Words. Seeming to care little for the people they were supposed to serve.

Arthur saluted and wheeled his buckskin into position. The yearling having proved himself a worthy steed throughout the tourney, striving to live up to the much larger and stronger horses of the other knights. The only thing he had changed was his set of tourney armour. He now wore a won suit of dull steel plate that fit much better than the cobbled together armour he had started out with. Though the helmet was still several sizes too large, leaving a commendable gap between his head and the top. Something that if he had not been a servant would have refused to wear, because of the chance of needless injury.

As they waited for the trumpet to sound, Arthur's buckskin pawed the ground easily. Excitement taking hold of the pony as it prepared to once more race down the list. With more training and once fully grown and filled out, it would make a fine tourney horse indeed.

The smell of steel and sweat, both human and horse filled Arthur's nose and he adjusted his position in the saddle with a creak of leather and rattle of steel. He flexed his fingers around the tourney lance in his hand, finding a better grip with which to hold it. With a blaring of trumpets, Arthur kicked the buckskin in the flank, quickly galloping forwards.

He met the Mountain with a shower of splinters as both of their lances shattered against the other, but both stayed mounted and they trotted each to the other side of the jousting list. Arthur took a new lance from Ser Robert who had offered to squire for him so that he no longer needed to dismount to retrieve his own lances, though he normally managed to end a joust in a single pass. He and the other hedge knights had pledged to take turns and Arthur felt gratitude towards them for the courtesy.

Arthur and the Mountain charged each other again when the trumpets blared and though Arthur scored a solid hit, he could not dislodge the mass of metal and muscle that was the Mountain as his lance shattered before he could ever deliver the force needed. Splinters flew through the air, but yet both knights remained in their saddles, much to the pleasure of the crowd who cheered at the spectacle.

Arthur though, felt a mote of apprehension. There was something off with the Mountian. This Ser Gregor Clegane. He radiated murderous intent and his eyes which peered out of the gloom of his helmet, held nothing but hatred. Or else a lust for blood and cruel intent that only he was a party to.

Arthur grabbed another lance from Ser Edgar on the far side of the field, the large knight holding up the lance with one hand and fanning himself with the other as he sat upon a small wooden stool. Arthur nodded his thanks to the knight, before taking position again, preparing for a third pass, yet his instincts warned him of danger. That this would be the pass to watch for something.

The trumpets blared for a third time and Arthur spurred his mount forwards to the cheering of the crowd, focused entirely where he planned to put his lance. As they closed and the Mountain lowered his lance, Arthur saw what his instincts had warned him of. The Mountain was carrying a real lance with a steel head.

Arthur threw himself back at the last instant, drawing upon his mana to move faster than a man had a right to move and there was a squeal of rending metal as the Mountain's lance tore through and off Arthur's helm. The oversized helm sparing his head from taking the blow as the steel head passed through empty space. The lance would have not harmed Arthur, not wielded by a living man's hand, but the questions raised as to how Arthur had managed to survive such a blow would turn him from crowd favourite to something like a demon in an instant.

Arthur sat back upright in his saddle again, boos coming from the crowd at the Mountain having used a real lance and the master of ceremonies rushed out into the field to call a temporary halt to the competition. Arthur frowning towards the other knight for both the dishonourable act, and more importantly attempted murder. A part of Arthur wanted to believe that it was a mistake, that Ser Gregor Clegane had made a mistake in taking a real lance, but Arthur doubted that very much. Ser Gregor had wanted to kill him.

"Are you alright?" asked Ser Robert as Arthur trotted up to him.

"Yes. Luckily, your past praise did not cause my head to swell too much, or else I fear that the lance would not have missed."

"Ha! He jests at this," said Ser Robert, clapping Arthur on the side. "By the Seven you moved fast though," marvelled Ser Robert.

"The desire to avoid a lance to the head spurs a man to move action quite quickly Ser Robert."

"That it does. Damn that bastard Clegane though, using a _real_ lance. I should have warned you about him Ser Arthur, the elder Clegane is a real mean bastard. There are some stories about him that will make you blood boil and stomach turn."

"Then I shall wait to hear them till after the ceremonies are done," said Arthur.

"That might not be the only thing waiting for you after the ceremonies Ser Arthur," said Ser Robert with a scandalous grin.

"Hmm?" asked Arthur confused, raising a blonde brow inquisitively.

"This is the first time the crowd has seen you without your helmet, and the ladies seem to be quite impressed at the sight."

Arthur looked back to the stands surrounding the lists and found that he was indeed receiving a great deal more concern from the crowd than before. Much of it also appeared to be from the female members of the crowd. The more bold of which were striving to capture his attention.

"Ser Dragon Knight!" cried out one of the small folk women from the lower stands before pulling down the top of her dress to bare her breasts at the King of Knights. Arthur looked away quickly, red in the face at the display.

"Ha!" laughed Ser Robert. "Young maidens throwing themselves at your feet and you blush like a young lad. You and that Septa are good companions Ser Arthur."

"W-well I," mumbled Arthur.

"Takes a lance to the head without batting an eye, yet stutters at the sight of a pair of tits? Ser Arthur, I think that you may be Rhaegar reborn after all. Just hope that King Robert doesn't bash your skull in with that warhammer of his like he did the first Dragon Knight."

"The master of ceremonies approaches," said Arthur eager to change the subject.

"Ser Gregor Clegane claims that it was a mistake on his part for the lance and asks your forgiveness for the mistake."

"Like fuck it was a mistake," cursed Ser Robert.

"If you wish to forgive him for the mistake the bout will continue. If not you will be declared the victor for Ser Gregor breaking the rules and he will be disqualified," continued the master of ceremonies without pause.

"Tell Ser Gregor that so long as he promises to continue the match with honour, we will continue as if nothing happened. Though I will need to retrieve a new helmet first," said Arthur.

"As you say Ser Arthur," said the master of ceremonies and went off to announce that the match would continue.

"You shouldn't have agreed to continue the match Ser Arthur. You can not trust a Clegane."

"Perhaps, but I wish to give him a chance to redeem himself with honour."

"You will find Ser Arthur, that the Clegane family has none. I will warn you now, prepare for another attempt on your life. The only thing greater than the Mountain's size in his temper."

"Your warning is well heeded Ser Robert."

"If it was Ser Arthur, you would not continue to joust with the man."

When Arthur had a new helmet he took position again and ensured with his enhanced sight that Ser Gregor indeed had a tourney lance. Satisfied, Arthur waited for the trumpet to sound, and when it did, they raced down the lists toward each other. As they approached each other, Arthur lowered his lance preparing to strike the Mountain and the Mountain lowered his as well. Well below where Arthur was sitting. In an instant Arthur realized his intentions and pulled hard on the reigns of his buckskin, trying to avoid the blow, but it was too late. The lance tore into the unprotected flesh of his mount before breaking as designed.

The buckskin whinnied terribly in pain, before falling forwards, taking Arthur with it as they fell to the ground in a tumble of horse, man, and metal. Arthur tumbled underneath his horse, but heard the crack of bone from the buckskin yearling, sounding clear even over the gasps from the crowd as Arthur went down.

Arthur rose from underneath the thrashing horse, whinnying in agony and kicking with its legs, the front two of which Arthur saw to be broken. Horse blood soaked into the soil below their feet from around the wood still lodged in the yearling's chest.

The buckskin's eyes were wide with terror and pain, and Arthur knew that it was his fault that this had happened. Because he had agreed to keep jousting after being warned not to, knowing himself invulnerable, but not thinking of his horse. Arthur drew his sword with a heavy heart and held it over his horse. Not a tourney sword filling his hand, but rather one of sharpened castle forged steel. He brought it down and into the heart of his horse, ending its suffering, but not his rage.

It bubbled up hot and fiery from within, threatening to spill out and as he withdrew the blade from the Buckskin. Arthur's fingers tightening around the hilt hard enough that he had to remind himself to loosen his grip lest he shatter the hilt. The Mountain taking a great sword from his squire and starting down the lists towards Arthur, despite the boos from the crowd and calls from the master of ceremonies to halt. The Mountain was intent on murder and Arthur was more willing to give him the chance.

Arthur took a step forward, blade in hand, but sudden terrible pain wracked his side threatening to steal the breath from his lungs and he hunched over clutching at his side. A thump like a heartbeat seeming to sound from inside of him, drowning out all other sound. He gasped, staggering forwards a step and falling to his knees, the Mountain bearing down on him, wielding the great sword like another man might an arming sword. Arthur's vision blurred, but he saw the glint of the sword well enough. With desperate strength, Arthur rolled under the dividing beam of the tourney lists, avoiding the Mountain's blade by no more than a hands span.

There was a thud as the mountain dismounted, heading for Arthur, his sword in hand. Arthur saw the Mountain in triple as the pain continued to spread, feeling like his whole body was lighting on fire. He raised his sword though he was only at his knees and blocked the first blow from the Mountain, but his grip was weak and the sword tumbled away with a clatter of steel.

Arthur's back hit the dirt as the Mountain kicked him in the chest, and raised his great sword high, intending to split Arthur in half. As he brought the blade crashing down, there was the sound of steel striking steel and the descent of the blade stopped.

Another sword was locked with Ser Gregor's and even with Arthur's hazy vision he saw it belonged to Ser Robert, the hedge knight having rushed to his defence. Seeming like a mouse standing up to a lion so great was the difference in size. Even having blocked with both sword and shield the hedge knight seemed to be straining to hold back the strength of the Mountain. They pushed apart from each other, but before they could come together again, a ring of steel had formed around the Mountain.

It was the hedge knights Arthur Realized. Both Ser Edwards armed with sword and shield, Ser Edgar, the large knight armed with a great war axe, while the lanky Ser Doyle was armed with a halberd, and lastly Ser Paul falling in beside his old mentor, bastard sword in hand. The six knights intention was clear. If the Mountain made to attack Arthur again, they would kill him.

"STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!" roared a great baritone voice and the knights present all turned and knelt to the man who sat on the Iron Throne. Arthur's vision faded to black. When his vision returned in a darkened wave, he saw the face of Madeline looming over him, and then everything faded to black again.

"Where's his injury?" asked Ser Robert as he crowded over Arthur as Madeline tended to the knight clearly in agony.

"I don't know. Something could have ruptured inside," said Madeline, fear making her voice heavy. "Quickly, get me more water."

"Right. Water," said Ser Robert quickly and rushed out from the tent, just missing Arthur displaying his servant strength as he clawed into the hard packed earth as though it was putty as he writhed in pain.

"Arthur, where is your wound?" asked Madeline desperately, prodding the knight's body, but finding no evidence of injury.

She looked into Arthur's eyes hazy with pain, and saw something that made her stop. Within his green eyes, she saw something like a blue flame take form. It soon spread further.

Madeline backed up in fright as blue light began to surround Arthur's body, licking up like flames from a fire, swirling and rising ever higher until when Madeline feared that they would be discovered, or the flames would consume all they touched. The flames became more violent, shaking the tent and tossing the things inside around like a child having a tantrum. Then, just as quickly as they came they disappeared. Though had made quite a mess of the inside of the tent in their reveal.

"Arthur?" said Madeline slowly as her knight stopped writhing in agony.

He opened his eyes and rose, blinking like a man who had just risen from a sleep well-rested.

"How do you feel?" asked Madeline, still unsure of what to make of what had just happened.

"Good. Better than good even Master," said Arthur, sounding surprised himself as he studied his hands like he expected to find the answers for himself there.

"Then what was...that?" asked Madeline.

"I...I think I have full access to my abilities now Master. I do not think I will overly tax you anymore for mana either. I feel...good," said Arthur simply.

"I brought more water, but," said Ser Robert pausing as he saw Arthur once more dressing into his tourney armour.

"Ah, Ser Robert. It seems that My Lady has more skill in the healing arts than she admits to," said Arthur with a small smile to the bewildered hedge knight.

Xxx

The crowd cheered as Arthur returned to the lists for the final bout, riding atop a brown courser this time that he had one. The crowd both relieved that he was well and that the final match would commence.

The other finalist was Ser Loras Tyrell and both he and Arthur saluted one another as they passed each other in the list. The Dragon Knight, and the Knight of Flowers. It was hard to tell who the crowd loved more.

With the blast of a trumpet both knights rushed towards each other, lances lowered and both shattered. They passed at each other for a second, third, and fourth time and each pass they broke a lance against the other. On the fifth and final pass though, Arthur unseated the Knight of Flowers, sending him crashing to the ground below.

The crowd cheered at the victory and Arthur raised his lance high in salute to the blaring of trumpets declaring him the winner. Squires and handmaidens threw flower petals into the tourney grounds and streamers were let fly at the conclusion of the Hands Tourney.

The master of ceremonies handed Arthur a wreath of flowers from a satin pillow and as was tradition was instructed to pick a Queen of Love and Beauty. Arthur rode his courser past the high ladies who had hope in their eyes that the knight from nowhere would present them with the wreath. He rode past the merchants daughters, and even the daughters of craftsmen and to the stands reserved for the small folk. All eyes on the hedge knight who in the morning had worn a mismatched suit of ill fitting armour and rode a yearling buckskin horse barely trained.

Arthur brought his courser to a halt in front of the simple wooden stands, and his eyes met those of his Master. Madeline looking like an awestruck little girl watching a fairy tail come true. Arthur held out the wreath of flowers to Madeline, dressed in the dour grey robes of a septa and she sat there staring at the wreath in stupefaction as if unable to comprehend what was happening. Then her face split in a wide smile and she took the wreath that Arthur offered, clutching it close to her breast, eyes becoming watery with tears.

"The promised victory my Lady," said Arthur, bowing his head to Madeline in respect. Then, at the beckoning from the master of ceremonies, wheeled his courser around and to the royal stand where he dismounted and fell to bended knee, inclining his head for the king of the Seven Kingdoms.

"Remove your helmet," said Robert Baratheon, voice slightly slurred with drink and Arthur did, revealing fair features and hair like gold dust.

"Hmm, maybe the rumours are true, you do look like a Lannister. Green eyes and all," said Robert causing a look like unbridled fury to cross his wife's face for a heartbeat.

"You honour me with the association to such a noble house, but I fear the rumour is just that. I am Ser Arthur Pendragon, and I have not a drop of Lannister blood in my veins your Grace."

"Just as well I suppose. So, you've won the tournament and the purse, but if you'll forgive Gregor Clegane's actions, I'll give you another reward as well. The man has a fearsome temper."

"If you could your Grace, I would like to ask two favours instead of another reward. I have coin enough."

"I was not speaking of coin," said King Robert. "But out with it, what do you want?"

"Firstly, my Lady, the septa whom I crowned queen of love and beauty would like a plead her case to you personally. The hill tribes to the south are becoming more active and she wishes to ask for aid in keeping them in check."

"And the second?"

"A king always has need of honourable knights your Grace."

"And you want me to take you into my service right?" asked Robert wearily like he had been waiting for the tedious request to come.

"No your Grace. I would like you to consider taking the hedge knights who saved me when Ser Clegane attacked me as I lay on the ground into your service. They are men of honour and I am sure that they would serve you well your Grace."

"Hedge knights and an audience is all you want?" asked Robert sounding surprised.

"Yes your Grace. If I may, I would also like to extend my thanks to your son. Without his support I would have never been able to compete in the tourney at all. I would like to dedicate my victories today to Prince Joffrey Baratheon."

Instead of looking proud or otherwise pleased, the crown prince instead seemed to flush in either embarrassment or even anger, doubly so when Robert roared with laughter.

"Well it seems that my son has an eye for knights at least. Very well then I grant your requests. Just when we speak next leave that damned shield behind, I'm sick of looking at dragons."

"As you say your Grace."

xxx

"I don't believe it," said Ser Robert dumbly, still staring at the new stag emblazoned tunic he had been given.

"It is a reward well earned Ser Robert. You and your fellows are men of honour and loyalty. The King should count himself lucky to have such knights as you at his side. I-" said Arthur, pausing as Ser Robert grasped him in a bear hug, lifting up the King of Knights and shaking him back and forth.

"You have no idea how much this means to me. To all of us," said Ser Robert wiping roughly at his eyes to keep tears at bay.

"We were spit on."

"Called robber knights."

"Viewed with suspicion wherever we went."

"Seen as little better than would be thieves."

"Thought to be without honour," said each of the hedge knights in turn.

"You help not only us, but our wives and children will no longer have to hang their heads in shame when they say their-say their name," said Ser Robert struggling to keep his emotions in check and wiping roughly at his eyes. "You honour us."

"You honour yourselves," said Arthur. "You men are truer knights than many of those who strut around here in bright colours atop of fine horses and piles of coin. I am proud to have met you, each one of you is a knight I would proudly stand to shoulder to shoulder with."

"And we you," said Ser Robert.

"Then until we meet again," said Arthur bowing to the now kings knights.

"Where will you go?" asked Ser Robert.

"For the time being me and my Lady will remain in Kings Landing and use my winnings to help the poor. After that? Wherever our feet take us and wherever our help is needed most. God bless."

"That man is a true knight," said Ser Paul, the youngest of the assembled knights when Arthur was long gone.

"Aye, that he is," agreed Ser Robert.

AN: Well I'm having a lot of fun writing this and it's coming pretty easy which is nice. I wrote all of this in a 24hr span which I'm quite proud of. Also looks like someone's dragon core is active now doesn't it? Also there will be other servants in the story, but it shouldn't derail the plot or make it just about the servants. Well, I guess Arthur is a servant so (Ignore the rambling) but I'll still keep in interesting and not just have Arthur Excalibur everything into oblivion. He might be strong, but he still doubts his ability to be a king and make important decisions will become more apparent as time goes on. As always thanks for reading and leave a review. If I don't respond to you I apologize, but I do try to get to everyone.


	5. Chapter 5

Somehow Madeline knew that she was dreaming, but it was something that she was only partially aware of. Staring down onto the earth below like a bird in flight it was as if she was looking down through the eyes of an eagle. It was beautiful to see the world like this, even if what she was seeing was horrible.

A village was ablaze and men in chainmail armour carrying swords, spears, and axes were running among the blazing huts killing and stealing at will. Cries of fear and pain rising high into the air, yet as clear to Madeline as if she was standing among them. All the villagers who could were running North away from the village, but they were being pursued by men both on foot and from horseback, mercilessly cutting them down. The scene conjured up images of WillowBirch and the hill men who had attacked it, immediately making Madeline despise the attackers more than she already did.

All at once it was like she was falling, coming closer and closer to the ground she saw the raiders fall into something like a formation, chasing down the villagers and heading to the farms yet more distant. Then Madeline saw more men on horses, but they were coming from the North and there were maybe only a hundred of them at most, while there seemed to be nearly three thousand men attacking the village.

Cries of warning came from the men attacking the village and the men afoot began to reform ranks, while their cavalry which outnumbered the Northern group five to one charged in a wedge of men, horses, and steel.

Madeline felt like she was hovering over to the group of knights that the peasants were fleeing towards their armoured horses throwing up clods of dirt as their steel shod feel struck the ground at full gallop. Their hooves shaking the ground with the passage of armoured horses and men. With a start Madeline recognized the banner that they carried. A golden snarling dragon set on a red field. It was Arthur's crest and this was another one of his memories.

Arthur rode at the front of his men, dressed again in his armour of silvery steel and blue, yet this time though he was wearing a matching helmet and carried a proper lance of war with a fearsome steel point. One that lowered as he and his knights closed the distance with the raiding cavalry. Saxons, came the word unbidden to Madeline's mind.

With a thundering crash of steel and flesh accompanied by the whinnying of horses in pain and cries of dying men the two cavalry forces crashed together. It was not even a close competition. Arthur's knights were in heavy plate and armed with lances riding heavy coursers, dwarfing the smaller and lighter horses of the Saxons who were dressed in lighter chainmail armour and carrying swords. Still, that did not mean that Arthur's knights were invincible and outnumbered five to one, many of them still fell. Armour torn open, limbs hacked off, the proud knights met their final resting place on the muddy ground below, sent there by Saxon steel. Their bright heraldry stained and sullied by the mud and their own blood. Yet for each of Arthur's knights that fell, a score more of Saxon horsemen fell in turn.

Soon Arthur and his knights were once more charging in a tight wedge of armoured horses and lances towards the Saxon infantry who were still reforming ranks. A vast field of chainmail and blades, ready to receive the young king. Madeline now seeming to hover above the King himself, a crown affixed to his helmet. Her Arthur.

They crashed into the Saxons again with lances lowered and bellowing a war cry, but there were many times more men against them this time. A solid wall of swords and shields and in horror, Madeline saw Arthur's horse fall, a thicket of spears lancing it, taking Arthur down with it.

Madeline wondered if this was how Arthur died, but then she saw it. A golden radiance birth into existence where Arthur had fallen and she saw a magnificent sword fill the King's hand as he rose. Carved and inscribed with beautiful runes and sigils, it shone with a radiance that could only be divine light. It was like a beacon, inspiring his own men, but also drawing his enemies to him.

She watched Arthur fight afoot, besting man after man as he wielded Excalibur, but the Saxon's closed around him and Arthur could not fight them all alone. Madeline saw a Saxon preparing to strike Arthur down from behind as he duelled another, but before his blade could descend, he crumpled to the ground under the weight of another of Arthur's knights leaping from horseback onto him. A knight dressed in silvery steel and red with horns extending from his helmet.

The knight with the horned helmet fought like a berserker, tearing men apart with frightening ease and ferocity as he fought towards Arthur. Sword moving like the scythe of the reaper himself as he charged into the press of men attacking his king. Putting himself at risk even to keep the Saxons away, fighting with what Madeline would call reckless abandon. Like his only desire was to reach Arthur's side. Fighting until he was shoulder to shoulder with Arthur and then defending his flank.

Another of Arthur's knights, a man of formidable size and strength fought his way to Arthur's side, using his warhorse to bully the Saxons out of the way, his sword swinging in bloody arcs. Hardly slowing as it passed though flesh or steel, wielded by such a man such things were insignificant. Even though it was a dream, Madeline felt her heart racing at the sight before her and though it was terrible, she wanted to see more.

A panicked cry came from the Saxons and with her view shifting, Madeline saw why. Two separate groups of cavalry, each much larger than Arthur's original group had been had each circled around to a different side of the Norman formation and were charging into their flanks. Each carrying banners bearing a golden dragon on a red field. Not as heavily armoured as the knights who had ridden with Arthur had been, the surprise flanking attack they carried out more than made up for it. A great cry of triumph went up from Arthur's men, and then Madeline woke up.

Madeline awoke with a start as the cart she was riding on hit a bump, jolting her and nearly tossing her off the side. Before she had fallen completely though, a strong hand grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her back safely onto her seat.

"My apologies Master, I did not think that it would jar you that badly," said Arthur contritely, riding alongside the cart on the most mild mannered of coursers that he had won in the tourney.

"It's alright, I don't fear injury with my brave Ser Knight around," said Madeline.

"Then I will continue to endeavour to see your faith well placed Master," said Arthur.

"And I will endeavour to try and contain my impatience to see the children's faces when we bring them their new beds and toys. Oh, they're going to be so excited!" gushed Madeline, looking at their cart stacked high with wooden bed frames, mattresses, toys, and blankets. Scarce having room for her in the back and ropes keeping the cargo away from the man driving the cart.

"Do you think we should have gotten different coloured blankets?" asked Madeline. "You know, to let them pick what colour they like?"

"I believe that having all the same will be fine, but we can get different dyed blankets next times if you wish Master. It will cost more though," cautioned the King of Knights.

"You're right, we'll skip the extravagance and just get them what they need. Oh, they're going to be so excited," squealed Madeline again in joy.

It had been two months since the Hands Tournament and they had been putting the prize money to good use. There was scarce an orphanage, charity, or sept that aided the poor which had not received a donation.

They had also paid the apprenticeship fees for over six hundred children to learn a trade from the various craftsmen and seamstress' in the city. Buying their tools and supplies that they would need for their education, there was scarce a shop, smithy, or herbalist who didn't know Arthur and Madeline by sight and name. Those who had nothing and until a few short weeks ago had no hope of better prospects were now learning valuable skills which would see them support themselves, and their future families comfortably.

They had also managed to reopen and expand several dozen soup kitchens which would provide free meals to the needy as well as employ more people to run and maintain them. They had found a reputable accountant to see that the employees would be paid and ingredients purchased and shipped. With the amount that they'd put in trust for the kitchens, they were informed that they would be able to provide free meals for at least five years before money started to become an issue.

Flea Bottom which had been a depressing place to visit and fast becoming a rundown slum in Kings Landing now rang with hammers and the gnawing of saws. Orphanages, asylums, and homes for the needy were all being renovated and given new life. Priority was new shingles, both to keep out the rains, and eventually the snow when the winter snows came again.

Arthur was dressed in his armour of silvery steel and blue, though the blanket of his horse now bore his crest on it. A golden dragon on a red field and wherever they went within Kings Landing, the common folk greeted him with calls of Dragon Knight, and Madeline as the Septa of Love and Beauty.

With a rattle of wooden wheels and a testy hee-haw of stubborn donkeys, the cart came to a halt outside of the orphanage they had been heading to. Aiding the septons and septas, Arthur and Madeline helped to unload the bed frames, blankets, mattress' and toys.

"Hello children," said Madeline sweetly, kneeling down as the younger children of the orphanage crowded around her, having returned from a tour of the Great Sept of Baelor. "We have a surprise for you today. Come along inside now," said Madeline smiling widely, a pair of the smallest children holding onto her hands as they went inside. Shortly thereafter, there were cries of joy as the children raced to their new beds and mattress'. The old, soiled, and worn out ones having been removed, in too poor condition for even the wood to be sold for scrap. The product of the passing of years, heavy use, and a leaky roof that had a short time ago been repaired courtesy of Arthur's winnings from the tourney.

The girls now grouped together, holding their new dolls and discussing things that only children find important, while the boys played with toy swords, the clack of wood on wood resounding from within the orphanage as they found the toys that had come with their new beds and bedding. Others still crowded around Arthur, pestering the champion of the Hand's Tournament with questions or else lining up for rides on his courser, which consisted of as many children as could safely fit in the saddle at one time and the King of Knights leading them in slow circles in the street in front of the orphanage.

Arthur smiled at the children milling about, devolving into games that only they seemed to know the rules to, and a dedicated group who clustered around Madeline. Showing her things that they had made or simply telling her stories about their daily lives with the fanciful twists that only children can add to a something as mundane as digging a hole or chores. The Septa smiling widely the whole time and encouraging the children in whatever it was that they showed or told her.

A memory came to Arthur, unbidden as the children looked up to him expectant for the Dragon Knight to let them ride his warhorse next, or else to simply gaze at a now famous knight. A memory that seemed a lifetime ago, yet came to him as if it had happened only moments before.

He had rode another warhorse down a cobbled street not unlike this one. The cold bite of winter in the air and snow crunching underneath steel shod hooves as he and his men rode back into Camelot. Battered and bloody, they were victorious, but at a cost. Always at a cost. Banners torn, armour dented, swords chipped, and many bandaged from wounds received in the battle that would never fully heal, they had turned back the Saxon raiders yet again.

He remembered the faces of his people. Of the mothers and wives. Of the children clutched in their arms or else hugging at their skirts, peeking around and trying to catch a glimpse of a familiar face as their King rode on by them.

Arthur remembered their faces as they looked up to him. At the man they had entrusted their loved ones to, and who they had placed their faith in. He had seen those hopeful faces waiting to catch a glimpse of their loved ones come to a slow, terrible realization. He had watched the hope fade to numb disbelief or grief incapable of being put into words. He remembered the looks on the faces of the youngest children the best. The look of not understanding where father was and why he wasn't with the King. The answer to that question was simple. The King had not been good enough. He had failed them.

The worst looks had been the ones of understanding. That their men had ridden with their beloved King and the sacrifice had been necessary. Never doubting it, because their saintly King had been the one to lead them.

Arthur remembered the stoic look he had adopted as he had ridden past them. One of regal grace, but as cold as the ice that formed from the eaves of the homes of his people. The same one he wore now, the small smile long gone.

Xxx

"Did you see their faces? Oh they were so thrilled!" beamed Madeline, riding on the back of Arthur's courser, still gushing at their time with the children.

"Indeed I did Master."

"Hey, what's up with you?" asked Madeline concerned. "You're all glum."

"Nothing of worry to trouble yourself with Master, merely a sombre memory that has made itself known."

"Well, you can't let that keep you from enjoying the day. Let's see a smile," said Madeline and Arthur obliged.

"No," a real smile," protested Madeline at the wooden smile on Arthur's face. One that failed to touch his eyes, leaving them still dim with grief.

"I fear I-" said Arthur, stopping mid-sentence as Madeline stuck her fingers in the corners of his mouth and pulled up, drawing his face into a crude smile, herself smile the whole time. Arthur's green eyes opening wide in surprise.

"Like that," said Madeline, before withdrawing her fingers from the bewildered servant's mouth.

"Master, I know that I promised that you can ask anything of me, but, nobody has ever done anything like that to me," said Arthur, lost for words, having sat dumbstruck for several long moments.

"Well I wanted to see you smile," said Madeline simply and Arthur chuckled. A natural and good-natured sound that lifted her heart to hear.

"I will remember the price for disappointing you Master."

"You could never disappoint me Arthur," said Madeline adoringly like she was speaking to the Warrior himself A dreamy, almost faraway look in her eyes. "Oh, stop here," continued the Septa pointing and Arthur stopped abruptly, pulling his courser up short.

"I'll only be a few moments. One of the women who works here likes it when a septa or septon comes by to pray with her or else do confessional. Just wait outside alright my Ser Knight?"

"As you say Master," said Arthur, watching as Madeline hopped down and heading into a three storey stone building, leaving Arthur alone sitting atop his brown courser in a small square. There were surprisingly few people around and Arthur wondered what exactly the women here did. It was too far from the work textile district for it to employ seamstress' and there was not the alchemical smell of a herbalists shop. There was no sign and if anything this seemed to be a more influential area of the city. In fact looking to the balcony on the second floor, Arthur saw them pass into and out of view while scantily clad.

With a sudden realization, Arthur understood that this was a brothel and the women who worked inside whores. Seen only as a series of profitable holes rather than the people that they were. Whether forced by circumstance or choice into such a life, they now found themselves sneered at by the rest of their fellows. The lowest of the low in society, holding the same place as beggars and thieves in the eyes of the common people, yet visited regularly by the very same ones who would so sneer at them. Their lives holding only as much value as the coin they could make for the owner of the brothel.

Arthur pitied the women for their lot in life, but felt nothing but scorn for the men who visited them while having loving wives at home waiting patiently and faithfully for them to return. Such was the temptation of lust and infidelity. Yet, Arthur did not burn with the righteous fury that he had when he was a younger man, because there were many reasons, if poor reasons why someone may wish to bed someone while being sworn to another. His own Guinevere and loyal Lancelot had both betrayed him in such a fashion, while professing loyalty and love towards him while secretly coupling together. Such hearts and their reasons had eluded Arthur, and even in death he could not understand why they had done such a thing. Why they had betrayed him so, yet still professed to love him and consider him friend. Were they mocking him, or had he always just been unable to see into the hearts of others?

The creaking of a door sounded and Arthur looked back, expecting to see Madeline, but instead saw Ned Stark exit the brothel, accompanied by a trio of his men and Lord Baelish. Arthur had heard stories of Lord Stark's nobility and found it hard to believe that he would betray his oaths of marriage so flippantly, but he did not appear to be a man who had recently coupled with a whore. Rather a man who was conducting important business, further reinforced as they ceased speaking when they noticed Arthur.

"Hail Lords Stark and Baelish. How fare you today?" asked Arthur politely, after dismounting in respect for the high lords.

"Well enough I should think. Have you come to spend some of your hard won coin at my establishment, or are you waiting for that septa of yours to finish praying with Helene?" asked Baelish.

"I only wait here for my lady to return, and the use of coin here would be a tragic waste of my wealth I fear."

"Your wealth will soon run out regardless at the rate that you are spending it, especially when you invest in enterprises that yield no return."

"Not all investments yield gold for the effort Lord Baelish. Investing in the people of the realm and improving their situation I would argue should be reward enough."

"Perhaps as a way to reduce crime, but I think you'll find that those who you trust to see to your investments will skim off the sum invested for their own pockets, even if it is given in charity."

"An unavoidable consequence surely Lord Baelish," said Arthur.

"Not if you know the right people with whom to have handle your money."

"Sadly I know not many people with whom to trust my to coin other than a few good souls that my Lady instructs me towards," said Arthur.

"Good people surely, but without the mind for finance. There are those whom you do know who could see your wealth return to you tenfold were you to invest it in more promising ventures."

"Do you suggest yourself Lord Baelish?" asked Arthur surprised. "I had thought after your icy reception at the tournament that you wished nothing to do with me?"

"An assessment made in haste I fear. If a man with wealth gives to every man who asks for coin, he will soon find that he has no coin remaining and that the demands still remain upon him to provide."

"There is truth in that," admitted Arthur. "Yet, I must admit hesitancy to agreeing to business terms with a man who trades in flesh. I fear insulting you by saying so Lord Baelish, but it is a venture that I find most unsavoury, and I have no doubt that my Lady would agree with me on that regard."

"Despite where the coin comes from, people never find coin unsavoury Ser Arthur. What would you do if I told you that the money which you won at the tourney was taken from starving peasants to make the winners purse? Would that money suddenly become poisonous to the touch whereas before it was a comfort knowing what you could do with it? Or would coin still be coin, whether from indulgence in fine food or a fine woman? I have ventures dealing with both if you find your most basic appetite needs satiating."

"I never contested the value of coin Lord Baelish, just the manner in which to go about making it. It would appear that we are at an impasse on the matter and I believe that sharp tongues should be sheathed before the handling of them causes undue injury to either party."

"Perhaps then we will speak more another time then Ser Arthur?"

"I will never refuse polite conversation Lord Baelish," said Arthur. "Lord Stark, I did not mean to ignore you, nor hold you captive longer than you intended to remain here. If I may be so bold though, I would like to offer you thanks for your contributions to the needy within King's Landing. The donation was put to good use," added Arthur, bowing his head to the Warden of the North.

Before the Hand of the King could answer, metal shod boots resounded off of the cobblestone street and soldiers bearing Lannister livery jogged into view, holding spears with swords on their hips. At least twenty men headed by Jaime Lannister himself, clad not in armour, but rather simple travelling clothes and riding atop a white horse. The men formed a rough half circle, boxing both Arthur and Lord Stark in.

"Such a small pack of wolves," said Jaime idly as he dismounted his horse.

"Stand back Ser, this is the Hand of the King," said one of Stark's men, a man with dark hair and a scar upon his face.

"Was the hand of the King," clarified Jaime, and Arthur noticed that the pin that normally decorated Stark's lapel was absent. "Now I'm not sure what he is. Lord of somewhere very far away."

"What's the meaning of this Lannister?" demanded Lord Baelish.

"Get back inside where it's safe Baelish," said Jaime, like one might to a child or else a woman. "I've come to discuss the whereabouts of my brother with Lord Stark. Short man, blonde hair, hard to miss really."

"My Lords, before things escalate too far, may I ask that we allow tempers to cool and discuss whatever this grievance is like men over a cup of wine?" asked Arthur, putting himself between the two groups.

"This is no concern of yours Ser Arthur, move along or you'll find that luck does not often favour the same man twice. I'm going to find out what Lord Stark here knows about my brother. Rumour has it his wife took him hostage."

"She did it at my command so that your brother could answer for his crimes," said Lord Stark and in a heartbeat there was a near continuous rasp of steel as swords were drawn and spears were readied.

"My Lords, this is not how you wish to settle your dispute," said Arthur.

"This doesn't involve you hedge knight. Get out of here or when I skin these wolves you'll find yourself among them."

"Threaten my lord again," began Stark's retainer.

"Threaten? You mean like me saying I'm going to open him balls to throat and see what Starks are made of?"

"My Lord Lannister. My Lord Stark. You two both have grievance with each other, and from the sounds of it just grievance, but fighting in the street will not accomplish either of your goals."

"Hedge knight you really do talk too much you know that? I'll give you one more chance to leave, before I open you up like I'm going to do to Lord Stark," said Jaime.

"You could give me a thousand chances my Lord, but so long as my Lady resides within this residence, I will allow no threat to her safety to take form. If you insist on fighting, I ask only that you do it away from here."

"I suppose the repressed life of a septa does lead to some pent up desires doesn't it? Or is this how you've gotten your coin to work in Kings Landing? I suppose that so long as she's staying here it'd be rude not to pay for her company. Tell me, has praying on her knees all that time in the sept helped in any capacity? I mean surely it'd made it easier on the knees. Oh, looks like I've touched a nerve," said Jaime, as Arthur's pupils narrowed in anger.

"Ser Jaime," began Arthur slowly and carefully, picking his words like a jeweller deciding on the best gemstone to set in a ring. "I understand that you are most disquieted that your brother has been accosted, and it is a sentiment that I can readily understand and sympathize with. However, mark my words well when I say that any insult against my lady, any assertion that brings into question her virtue or honour, or any action that puts her safety in jeopardy in the slightest will not be tolerated."

"Will not be tolerated," mocked Jaime repeating Arthur. "Why dance around what you're trying to say hedge knight? Why not just say it? You'll kill me, is that what you're trying to say?"

"Very well Sir Jaime, allow me to clarify," said Arthur, voice as cold and dispassionate as ice. Then, almost casually drew his own blade, holding it low even as a thicket of spears were raised against him, Jaime almost playfully readying his own blade. Yet instead of readying his own sword into a proper stance, Arthur merely pressed the tip of it to the cobbled street below and dragged it, the scrape of metal on stone leaving a long thin line in the cobbles.

"Any man who crosses this line will fall," said Arthur, his unwavering gaze never breaking from Jaime's.

"How interesting," mused Jaime, his lather boot tapping almost impatiently on the cobblestone.

"Lord Stark, I will bring the city watch," said Lord Baelish, clearly seeing that things were going to turn violent.

"Jaime stop this foolishness, this confrontation is pointless. You know that if you kill me you'll never get your brother back," said Lord Stark. "If you have issue we can take it up with the king."

"You're right," conceded Jaime, resting his sword on his shoulder and seeming to have decided to leave, turning on his heel. "Take him alive, kill the rest," added Jaime, almost casually, before turning sharply and lashing out at Arthur with his sword.

In a series of movements almost too fast to follow, Arthur parried Jaime's sword, before kicking him in the chest, sending the Lannister flying backwards. Then merely sidestepping a spear thrust from one of Jaime's guards and beheading the man in one fluid motion. With the speed of a striking cobra, Arthur snatched a thrown spear out of the air, before with a flick of his wrist sent it back towards the owner impaling him through the throat. All three bodies hitting the ground at roughly the same time.

The Lannister men hesitated for a half-second, before Arthur seemed to rest the tip of his blade on the ground, almost as if he was leaning on it in an awkward fashion, having adopted a Schrankhut guard, or blockade guard.

A trio of Lannister guards rushed the King of Knights, soon understanding that Arthur had baited them as like lightning he rushed forwards, dodging a spear thrust and the awkward hold on his blade allowed him to quickly bring it up in an overhead strike that beheaded a Lannister guard. Arthur then twisted out of the way of another stab, bringing his sword around in a low slash that separated a Lannister guard from his leg at the thigh, sending the man screaming to the ground. The third died as Arthur parried a thrust, before half swording his longsword, grabbing it halfway up the blade and using it like a spear to drive it into the man's neck. Then withdrawing it to drive into the still screaming man on the ground, snuffing out his life.

In a matter of heartbeats, five men were dead and all by Arthur's hand. A pair of spears were thrown at Arthur that he batted out of the air like annoying insects, almost lazily with only one hand holding his sword. The spears clattering away on the cobblestones, splashing slightly as they hit the growing pools of blood on the ground.

There was a clash of steel as Arthur parried the blade of a Lannister soldier who had thrown his spear, before taking his hands with a brutal slash that sent the man stumbling back screaming in agony and horror at the now stumps of his arms. Only to be silenced as Arthur stabbed him through the through with his blade, sending the man gurgling to the ground below to choke on his own blood.

In the span of perhaps fifteen seconds six men lay dead at Arthur's feet, but it would take three more Lannister guards laying dead at Arthur's feet, before the remaining number circled around warily, spears outstretched as they shuffled for better position. None daring to advance towards the King of Knights. His cold emerald gaze travelling over each remaining Lannister Guard that looked nervously between each other and the growing mound of dead at Arthur's feet. The blood of their fellows now practically coating Arthur, half of his face turned red by it.

The Lannister guards flinched as Arthur took a pair of steps forward, armoured boots splashing in the blood and struck the point of his sword into the ground and dragging it slowly as he walked made a new and clear line in the stone, before standing still and resting his hands upon the pommel.

"Ser Jaime, I will tell you this once more. I will tolerate no threat to my Lady's safety from you, the Seven Kingdoms, or beyond. I do not wish to continue fighting, but if you press the issue make no mistake Lannister, I will kill you."

To those meeting Arthur's gaze, they would have sworn that it looked like his normally pure green eyes were starting to slowly change to a golden hue, and his emotionless demeanour, taking on a more malicious tone, making their hair stand on end.

"I will not be talked down to by a mere hedge knight," spat out Jaime.

"Would you prefer to be killed by one?" asked Arthur, voice like ice, cold and biting like the northern winds. Face giving away nothing, even as he readied his blade into a more aggressive stance.

"A-Arthur...wh-what's going on?" came a voice cracking with alarm.

"My Lady," breathed Arthur looking back, feeling a wave of shame come over him at the look of utter horror that covered Madeline's face. At seeing him covered in blood and surrounded by a mound of corpses. His sword lowering.

Jamie struck as Arthur was distracted, but Arthur wasn't restraining himself here like he had against Ser Barristan Selmy. Here his Servant heightened senses were functioning at their peak. The scuff of leather on stone was all the warning that Arthur needed, even if he hadn't seen the alarm in Madeline's eyes. Even if he couldn't feel the killing intent in Jaime Lannister.

Arthur spun in place, sword flashing up and deflecting the strike from Ser Jaime, before abandoning swordplay and grappling with the Kingsguard. Arthur didn't waste time with any special techniques or strategy, using instead brute force to lift Jaime up and send him splashing onto the blood soaked ground below. His sword descending rapidly, stopping just short of driving through Jaime's throat.

"You are beaten. Take your men and withdraw," said Arthur curtly.

He could see the anger in Jaime's eyes, the disbelief and wounded pride, but he could also see understanding and reason. Jaime knew he had lost.

"I suppose that you want me to yield then?" asked Jaime, ever glib.

"I demanded no such thing, consider this a draw if you so wish. I only ask that you depart," said Arthur curtly, extending a hand down to help Jaime to his feet.

"A draw then? I suppose that's acceptable," said Jaime, an undercurrent of frustration in his words, yet his pride still intact, accepting Arthur's outstretched hand.

"I want my brother back Stark," said Jaime as he mounted his horse to Lord Eddard, his guards having formed a half ring around the Northern Lord. The clop of hooves sounding as he departed.

"My Lady, I," began Arthur, stopping as Madeline tenderly reached up and wiped the blood off of his face with a kerchief. No judgment, no scorn, simple understanding in her eyes.

"I need no Justification Ser Arthur. Though this scene is troubling to behold, I fully believe that you acted in the most honourable way."

"Thank you, my Lady," said Arthur bowing his head.

"Ser Arthur," said Lord Eddard and immediately Arthur bowed, inclining his head.

"How may I be of service Lord Stark?" asked Arthur, still bowing.

"I would like to thank you for your assistance."

"Thanks is unnecessary my Lord. I acted only to uphold the King's peace and defend my Lady. Though these men will need a proper Christian burial now I fear," said Arthur, sounding mournful at the fact.

"Pardon?" asked Lord Stark confused and Arthur immediately realized his slip of tongue.

"Ser Arthur is from a land far from her My Lord," offered Madeline quickly. "He follows different customs, yet many are similar to our own and he has pledged himself to the cause of chivalry and knightly valour."

"It is as she says Lord Stark, I am a stranger in these lands, yet I continue to grow in my love for both it and its people. I...only regret that I have spilled the blood of its people. If I am required to come before the Gold Cloaks for my actions I only ask that my Lady be spared from such probing since she is innocent of the act."

"Do not worry yourself Ser Arthur, I will speak with the King and let him know that you acted both in my and your own defence. I am sure that he will understand."

"Thank you My Lord, it eases the mind to hear that," said Arthur.

"I have to ask though, where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I have had many teachers Lord Stark."

"That isn't an answer Ser Arthur."

"No. It isn't Lord Stark, but we all have secrets that we wish to keep today and this one is mine. I beg your understanding at this."

"My Lord, we shouldn't tarry here any longer. Ser Jaime could very well return with more men at his back."

"Very well, we'll find Lord Baelish and the city watch before we head back to the Red Keep. Another time then Ser Arthur," said Lord Stark.

"Another time," agreed Arthur. "I wish you well Lord Stark, and God bless."

Xxx

"And now the Rains weep o'er his halls, with not a soul to hear!" finished the men wearing Lannister colours in a drunken and raucous chorus. Cheering at the end and drinking deeply from tankards of ale, not the first of any man that night.

It was late into the night, very nearly early into the morning and the night was dark as dark could be, but the inside of the inn was warm and brightly lit. A pair of hearths providing warmth and light to the patrons, the pleasant smell of stew rising from the cauldron cooking over one of the flames.

With good drink, warm food, and roaring fires it was enough to make one forget the lashing rain coming down from above and howling wind punctuated by rumbles of thunder that shook the timbers of the inn.

The barmaid was a young thing with chestnut hair and a low cut dress displaying a very ample bosom as she served drinks and food. Her bottom was pinched every time she cleared away the empty mugs for full ones, or brought fresh platters of food, but the Lannister men tipped well, and the deeper in their cups they dived, and the lower her dress went, the larger the tips became. For a smile and bending over just enough that the men could catch a glimpse of breasts as she brought them what they wanted, she made a decent amount of money. Perhaps she would even pick one of the younger and more handsome men to bed for the night if she was feeling generous and the tip was large enough.

The innkeeper himself stood behind the bar with casks of ale behind him, eternally cleaning cups with a rag most likely more filthy than the cups ever were, but continue to wipe he did. He was a man approaching his middle years, black hair giving way to grey with two days of stubble on his face. An apron covering his front as he set about preparing food or else cleaning the counter from the countless spills.

Besides the Lannister men who sang and laughed in raucous fashion there were only a few drunkards who remained at this late hour. Faces flush with drink, noses large, blue veined, and bulbous from long years of inebriation, they sat slumped over their tankards. Clothes dishevelled and hair unkempt, they were men who cared only for drink. All other things of their life having lost value next to the nightshade they craved above all else.

There was another in the tavern at this late hour though. A man holding a tankard of ale in a white knuckled grip, threatening to split the skin, or else the handle of the mug. Blue eyes gazing from within the hood of his travelling cloak, eyes narrowed to pinpricks of hate. It seemed that he would have been content to sit like that, stewing in hatred, until that is the Lannister men began to sing the Rains of Castamere again. The final straw that served to tip the scales.

"Inn Keeper, another round of drinks for my new friends here," called the man, throwing back the hood of his travelling cloak, letting flowing dark hair fall free and revealing finely chiselled features on a feline face. A raucous cheer came from the Lannister men seated at the table as they invited their new drinking companion to sit with them.

"Drink deep and hearty my friends," offered the dark haired man. "Those who serve the Lannisters deserve everything that comes to them."

"Any man who buys me a drink is a friend who can share my table for the night. What's 'yer name friend?" slurred one of the Lannister soldiers, face flushed red with drink.

"My name is Karolus," said the dark haired man. "Please, drink, be merry and don't let me distract you from your singing. I've spent my entire life listening to that song."

"A Lannister man than are you?" asked one of the drunken soldiers.

"Something like that," said Karolus and joined the men as they drank and sang the Rains of Castamere again.

"Always stirs my breast to hear it. Lord Tywin is bloody invincible, said another one of the Lannister soldiers.

"Indeed, it stirs something in my breast as well," said Karolus. "But there is one part of the song that I don't quite agree with."

"Oh? What part?"

"Yes, now the Rains weep o'er his halls with no one there to hear," sang Karolus in a melancholy tone.

"But the Reynes are all dead, Castamere a pile of burned stone. There's no one left to hear," said one of the drunken soldiers.

"Ah, but that is just what most people think is what happened," said Karolus. "You see, Lord Reyne was a proud man, and a rich man, but he didn't let his pride blind him to the possibility of defeat. He understood that he could very well lose when he rose up against the Lannisters."

"And lose he bloody well did," Laughed one of the soldiers.

"And so he did. You see, he built an elaborate series of escape passageways that led from Castamere should a siege ever take place that threatened to breach the walls. He had stashed away a comfortable sum of money and set aside a small party of loyal retainers should he and his family ever need to flee and go into hiding. Yet, when he rebelled he did not fully expect the fury the response. He had expected Tytos Lannister, the soft hearted and weak patriarch of the family to lead the forces of House Lannister. A lion without teeth or claws. Instead, it was the son, Tywin Lannister who led the army."

"Damned right he did, smashed the Reyne's at every battle."

"Indeed, the tactical brilliance and strategic mind of Tywin Lannister saw him utterly crush the forces of Lord Reyne. When defeat was obvious Lord Reyne tried to parlay with the Lannisters. He sought to bend the knee again, but he had gone too far for the young Tywin to forgive. The years of insult to his father and the loss of meaning when one uttered the name Lannister were what he sought to banish in one fell swoop. Make the Lannister name one to be feared again. Establish the Lannisters as the undisputed lords of the west once again. Lord Tywin took no prisoners, spared no man, woman, or child who served the Reyne family." Karolus took a drink of ale before continuing, the Lannister men listening to his every word.

"Lord Reyne knew that he and his wife would be hunted down like animals were they to flee. Hunted to the ends of the world to satisfy Lord Tywin's desire for blood at the betrayal. All of Lord Reyne's sons died in the battles fought against Lord Tywin sword in hand. All his sons, all his children dead and the Reyne bloodline residing solely with him, or so people believed. Lady Reyne had been pregnant when Lord Reyne had declared himself independent from the Lannisters. It was a secret pregnancy, one that hardly showed on the Lady and the family maester sworn to secrecy as the pregnancy progressed. During the campaign, Lady Reyne gave birth to a healthy child. A baby girl they named Lily Reyne. The Reyne parents knew that to flee with their child meant that they would all be killed. Whether they fled across the sea to the likes of Volantis, Braavos, or to somewhere like Qarth at the edge of the world. That for their child to live they had to die. So, they sent a wetnurse and two of their most loyal knights to take the child away to their secret manor as the Lord and Lady Reyne waited for Tywin Lannister to breach the walls of Castamere. So there was one left to weep over the halls of Castamere as she grew to be a woman. My mother, Lily Reyne, and not myself, Karolus Reyne. Heir of Castamere and sworn enemy of every Lannister and those who bear their colours."

Raucous laughter greeted Karolus at the story, the Lannister men holding their sides as they let out great guffaws, threatening even to fall from their stools.

"Such a story, it-it's too much!" laughed one of the Lannister soldiers, tears in his eyes.

"So you're a Reyne? Mind stopping this downpour then?" taunted another, still laughing.

"But why would I stop the downpour when I seek to let loose a deluge of blood?" asked Karolus Reyne calmly, before with a snick of steel travelling across leather a dagger filled his hand and he rammed it into the neck of the Lannister soldier at his side. Jerking the blade to the side and leaving a terrible and bloody gash across the man's neck.

The soldier clutching at his ruined neck as blood flowed down his front, a gurgling, sucking noise as air both entered and escaped the man in an obscene fashion. Before the drunken soldiers could react, Karolus was on his feet, sword clearing his sheath with a rasp of steel that set the blade ringing in the inn. The serving girl screamed as the blade sank into another Lannister soldier with parting of flesh and sucking of meat on steel.

With bellows of rage the other Lannister men rose to their feet, swords clearing sheaths, hindered by drink but having so long practiced in the use of their weapons, even drunk the six remaining men were sure to kill the young Reyne. Yet, Karolus did naught but smile.

"I'm gonna gut you from balls to neck you traitorous little cunt," seethed one of the Lannister men, face twisted in hatred and a blade filling his hand.

"Will you now? Before you do, I believe that I never told you the one part of that song I did like," said Karolus, sticking his sword into the wooden floor between two boards, before taking off his glove and showing the back of his hand. A red tattoo on the back of it that seemed to glimmer faintly with light. A tattoo that had looked like a spiral made of three separate parts with jagged lines and curves.

"A coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp my lord," said Karolus, smiling as the inn shook again, but not from thunder. Then again and again in a rhythmic fashion as though something was walking, making even the drunkards slumped over their drinks at the bar counter look up to see what was causing the whole inn to shake. The Lannister soldiers even momentarily forgetting their rage as they looked around in confusion and the beginnings of fear.

"As long and sharp as yours," Said Karolus as the wooden entrance to the inn groaned as if in pain, before bursting inwards with a shattering of wood. Those present holding up their arms to shield themselves from the storm of wood. A man twice the size of a normal man who dwarfed even the mountain entered the inn from the lashing rains outside, steam of his breath making it seem as though he was a demon snorting in amusement.

His hair and beard were dark as night and black as sin, if braided and covered by a bronze helmet with a plume of horse hair. He looked deeply tanned and could have been considered handsome if his face was not set in a permanent sneer of inhuman fury, eyes lacking any sort of humanity at all. Glowing yellow instead like hot coals letting off heat from a flame long since extinguished. He was armed and armoured, but not in the fashion of any sort of Westerosi soldier.

He had a bronze chestplate that covered his torso, but left his arms bare save for a pair of bronze bracers. He wore an armoured leather war skirt around his waist with bronze shin guards on his legs, though his feet had only simple leather sandals.

The floorboards groaned in protest at the weight of the man, if that was what he was as he thundered forwards to stand beside the Lord Reyne. Even breathing he sounded to be growling, muscles standing out in clear definition as he gripped his bronze sword and shield like he was trying to shatter them instead of wield them. The Lannister soldiers backed away fearfully several steps from the giant and the smirking Reyne.

"I would like you men to meet a dear friend of mine, and the newest champion of House Reyne. His name is Goliath, but you may know him as Berserker. Me and him have entered into a pact you see and he has quite the temper which means that he hates everything, but especially hates what I hate. And I _**HATE**_ Lannisters and those that serve them. Which means, well, Berserker, show them how you feel about the Lannisters will you?"

A bellow of rage shook the inn and threatened to make those closest to the giant go deaf, yet Karolus did nothing but smirk as his giant lunged forwards, faster than a thing of flesh and blood had a right to move and swung his bronze sword, longer than a greatsword and as wide as a farmers plow that howled as it moved through the air with ferocity bordering on that of a demon. The blade claiming five of the six men in a single swing. Tearing them apart and scattering the remains of their bodies to every corner of the tavern, so violent was the blow. The face of the Berserker stuck in a vicious snarl, that seemed almost gleeful at the carnage.

The sixth Lannister soldier turned to run, but Berserker turned on him, catching him before he had even made a full stride, crushing him into a meaty paste against the floor of the tavern with his bronze shield and shattering the wooden floorboards into splinters as he did so.

The barmaid was sobbing fearfully in the corner of the tavern, huddled against the wall while the Inn Keeper dropped a club he used on the most rowdy of patrons to the floor with a clatter of wood. Eyes wide with terror and face sheet white with terror. Even the drunkards through their haze of drink were quivering with fear, hiding under their stools or else under tables, still clutching their tankards of ale. Scuttling out of the way as Karolus strode over to the bar, his giant not far behind him.

"The Lannister's aren't the only ones who pay their debts," said Karolus as he put a gold dragon onto the counter. "Spread the word will you? The Reyne's are not all dead, and our war is not over."

AN: I quite liked writing a pissed off King Arthur who gets a little condescending and showed Jaime how stupid he was being. I like to think that Arthur is endlessly patient and polite until you actually make him mad, then watch out. After all, he does have a dragon core which I'm taking to mean the soul of a dragon and once you threaten or insult a dragon's treasure, watch out. Well that's another chapter, and as always let me know what you think and leave a review. Also, do you guys prefer a male or female Mordred?

Edit: Updated the chapter a little bit and changed the scene with Jaime and Arthur a little bit and added some foreshadowing. Personally I think it's less awkward then it was, but still not perfect. Also fixed a few mistakes. Also thinking I want Mordred to be prototype Mordred so I'll be switching the she Mordred to a he. I really want the father/son dynamic.


	6. Chapter 6

"I can't believe that there's an uprising," said Madeline.

"It's true, the last of the Reyne family has raised his banner and both outlaws and hedge knights have been flocking to his cause. Swearing fealty and marching towards Casterly Rock, sacking every village and town that they come across on the way. They say that he has a foreign champion who dresses in bronze and is twice the size of any man, even Ser Gregor Clegane. That his eyes grow like coals from a fire. That he is a demon raised from hell," said Septa Alayna, the young woman lowering her voice at the mention of giant.

"Well surely outlaws and a dispossessed lord can't challenge the Lord Paramount? I mean the Lannisters are a rich family with many soldiers sworn to their cause. A few brigands and robber knights shouldn't be able to challenge him."

"That's what I had thought too, but any punitive force raised to stop this Karolus Reyne is completely annihilated. If the stories are true, it's only ever the giant who fights. Faster and stronger than any man who has ever been. I've heard the crown is putting together a force to go and put an end to the last Reyne."

"But why would he put the small folk to the sword? They have done nothing to him," said Madeline.

"They serve Lord Tywin Lannister, so he has declared them his enemies," said Septa Alayna.

"But if they swear loyalty to this new Reyne then Lord Tywin will declare them traitors and they will suffer the same fate as this Lord Reyne," protested Madeline.

"I know, and so do the small folk," said Septa Alayna morosely. "And so long as this Lord Reyne continues his rebellion, the suffering of the small folk shall continue."

"Then my knight and I shall find this Lord Reyne and defeat him," declared Madeline.

" _Your_ Knight is he?" asked Septa Alayna slyly.

"Of course he is," said Madeline. "He has sworn an oath to me and as such we are bound together," finished the septa primly.

"You never did fully explain to me how he swore himself to your service, just that he came to your aid in WillowBirch. How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Get him to declare himself for you. I've never heard of a knight and a septa as travelling companions before, or a knight swearing himself to a lone septa. It almost sounds like something from a love song. _Are_ you lovers?" asked Septa Alayna mischievously.

"W-what? Of course not!" squeaked Madeline, face flushing pink at the suggestion and looking around quickly the Great Sept of Baelor. Looking for any who could have overheard them, or else be listening in.

"So he hasn't made any advances upon you then?" pried Septa Alayna.

"Absolutely not. He has been nothing but a paragon of knightly virtue and absolute gentleman to me and everyone he has met."

"And yet he crowned you his queen of love and beauty at the tourney."

"He only competed and won, because I asked him to, nothing more," said Madeline.

"Ah. So he does as his fair lady bids him to then does he? Did you also ask him to crown you queen of love and beauty?"

"I would never be so vain," defended Madeline.

"So he crowned you his queen of love and beauty of his own accord then did he?" grinned Alayna. "Or perhaps you've been the one making advances on _him?"_

"I-I," stuttered Madeline, face blushing pink before darkening to scarlet as memories of her scandalous actions and thoughts came to the forefront of her thoughts.

"By the Seven, you _have!"_ giggled Alayna.

"I have never acted upon such urges," said Madeline waving her hands as if in a warding gesture.

"Do tell me of these urges dear Madeline and I will absolve you of this sin of lust my little dove!" said Septa Alayna dramatically, hugging Madeline tight against her ample bosom. "How long has it been since you've had confessional? I'm sure that there's all sorts of juicy little-I mean sinful things to tell."

"And how long has it been since you've admitted all your trespasses Alayna? I seem to remember a certain septa feigning sickness so that she wouldn't have to do missionary work."

"I still do the work of the Seven...just from a place where I have a bed with clean sheets every night and access to a bath. It's dirty on the road...and there's bugs...and all the walking makes my feet sore," defended Septa Alayna a look like she had stepped in something disgusting making its way onto her face as she recounted all the hardships of travel. "Though if you would like me to make amends I would gladly travel with you and your Ser Knight in this labour of yours. Even when he prays, he looks like a saint," said Septa Alayna with a sigh, peering around one of the columns within the great sept to stare at the King of Knights. The Once and Future King kneeling down with eyes closed and hands clasped as he prayed, though not towards any one specific deity.

Confusion twisted Septa Alayna's face as she saw the Dragon Knight draw his hand up and down across his front, before moving side to side in a gesture clearly as well practiced and natural to the knight as breathing.

"Stop spying on him," demanded Madeline, pulling her friend back from her vantage point.

"What does this mean?" queried Alayna, repeating the motion that Arthur had made.

"It's just what he does when he prays, he's not from Westeros," said Madeline brushing off the question.

"Not from Westeros you say? Well I wonder if he has a fondness for his homeland and the girls from there then?" said Alayna, purple eyes twinkling with mirth. "I wonder if he's from Bravos or Lys? I think I'll go and introduce myself."

"Alayna, control yourself," demanded Madeline, grabbing hold of the other septa.

"I just want to meet one of my countrymen and convert him to the path of the Seven," defended Alayna, trying to pull away.

"You've never even been to the free cities, you were born in Kings Landing! Plus I remember you failing theology the first time we took it as girls!"

"Well I've always believed that the home is where the heart is," grunted out Alayna trying to pull away. "And I've always said that faith is more of a spiritual connection than a scholarly one anyways!"

"It's not your heart that's guiding you!" retorted Madeline hotly.

With a final tug, Alayna pulled free from the other septa, but tripped on her long robes, letting out a yelp as she fell backwards, only to fall into waiting arms.

"My lady, are you alright?" asked Arthur concerned as he righted the septa.

"Just clumsy is all Ser Knight," giggled Alayna, clasping her hands in such a way that her arms helped to accentuate her already ample bosom. "I thank you for you timely help though. Me and Septa Madeline were merely discussing recent events and I quite forgot where to put my feet."

"Think nothing of it my Lady, any friend of Lady Madeline's is a friend of mine."

"Please, just call me Alayna, there is no need for formality here Ser Knight."

"I would not be so bold as to forgo proper courtesy my Lady."

"Well I quite happen to like bold men Ser Arthur."

"I'm terribly sorry to cut this so short, but me and Ser Arthur have pressing business to attend to in the Westerlands," said Madeline, giving an overly large smile to Arthur, before glaring at the other septa.

"Then I bid you well, but I do so wish I could go and help those who are suffering under this blight," said Septa Alayna sounding morose.

"Many hands make for light work Septa, and I'm sure that Septa Madeline would be overjoyed to spend time with another of her companions from the sept."

"Oh that is such a wondrous offer!" said Septa Alayna joyously. "I won't be but a moment and I will be with you and ready to travel."

"That was a most generous offer of her," said Arthur. "She is a language teacher and domestic instructor is she not? The colour of her scarf suggests as much."

"She is," said Madeline stiffly. "I also don't remember consenting to allowing another in our travelling group, especially if she were to discover our true relationship."

"I apologize master, I had not considered that. Sometimes I forget what I am and I had not wished to appear rude to one of your companions. Shall I forgo my invitation?"

"No," huffed Madeline. "Alayna would just mope if we did that. We will let her come with us, but when the time comes for you to battle Lord Reyne I will distract her."

"As you say Master," said Arthur bowing his head.

Xxx

Karolus with manners and grace approaching that of any Lord in the Seven Kingdoms ate his meal quietly and politely, a small feast having been prepared for him and his men by Lord Ashdown.

Lord Ashdown was a minor lord whose house sigil was wheat stalks on a green field, because nearly all of his holdings were farmland dedicated to harvesting the crop on his coat of arms. He had at most a hundred fighting men under his command and were he to call his levies, perhaps a thousand more if he pulled men from their farms.

His men were more than just fighting men though. They were a roving watch that ensured the land stayed free of bandits and to keep the peace in case of peasant squabbles. So to even call them all together would take time should the need arise. More time than it had taken Reyne's champion to decimate a Lannister force three times their number alone and in a matter of a couple of scant minutes. A proud group of knights and men at arms three hundred strong reduced to scattered limbs and sundered armour. Outside the very walls of his own castle no less. Murdered by a giant that no arrow could pierce and no blade touch.

When so presented with such a foe, Lord Ashdown had opened his hall and home to the dispossessed lord, offering food, drink, and lodging. Hoping that such support would be all that would be asked of him.

"I hope that the food is to your liking my Lord," said Ashdown, conscious of the hulking giant of a man, if it was a man at all standing a scant few paces behind them. Surveying the great hall with eyes that burned like lit coals. Seeming that at any moment he would lash out and murder all of them. The rest of Lord Reyne's men seated at the tables contained within, laughing raucously and eating without manners, pulling the serving girls to sit upon their laps for a quick fondle, before releasing them to bring more drink.

"It is," said Karolus. "I must confess I'm more than a little pleased to received such hospitality from a lord sworn to the service of House Lannister. It is rather unexpected. Though, I suppose that the loyalty of lords has always rested with the strongest hasn't it? With the fear of what the stronger lord will do should you refuse them?"

"Those without strength must bend to those who do, my Lord," said Lord Ashdown, slowly choosing his words.

"Exactly. Your house and many others served my grandfather when he was strong and his position seemed secure. In fact my grandfather was much the same. Only standing on his own when he believed his strength greater than that of the Lannisters. Perhaps some truly believed in him and his bid for independence. Holding to their vows of honour no matter the outcome, but the majority supported him believing that he would win. Of that I have no doubt. Your own father supported my grandfather in his bid for independence did he not?"

"He did my Lord. He answered with every knight and man-at-arms at his disposal. He fell in battle against Lord Tywin with all his men, and we bent the knee when Lannister forces advanced upon our lands."

"I'm sure that you bent the knee grudgingly to the gold lion didn't you Lord Ashdown?"

"Bending the knee to a man who killed my father was not a good day for me my Lord, nor an easy one, but I was just a boy charged with keeping my family and lands safe. I did what I had to do."

"As we all must," agreed Karolus. "I lived in hiding for years with my mother and a few loyal retainers. Hearing over and over the song that celebrated the death of my family and all we had held dear. Such a thing is enough to make a man go mad, but I endured my humiliation, just as you endured yours so that I could simply survive. But now we have the means to strike back against our humiliation."

"My Lord, I don't mean to offend, but your men do not seem a proper army," said Lord Ashdown, looking over the men filling his halls. A few were hedge knights and as such had proper training and armour, if well used armour, but the rest were nothing but brigands. Bandits, robbers, and poachers with no real armour and weapons that were more suited for falling upon unwary travellers than professional armies. They were not the properly drilled and armed soldiers that the Lannisters employed at all.

"Yes, for the most part they are a horribly undisciplined rabble. Half of them I would wager haven't been in a proper battle in their lives, but they are just the start of my army. An army that would do well to have banners that people know added to it Lord Ashwood. You could raise two thousand men to my cause could you not? Most would be peasant levies I know, but you have at least a dozen knights and near a hundred men-at-arms in your service do you not?"

"Two thousand would see crops rot and wither in the fields my Lord. As well as strip every able bodied men and their sons down to the age of six from the whole of my lands and beyond. The most that I could raise and not hurt our harvest would be 900. Even that number would see the people suffer, and most of them have never held a blade before."

"Good. Then I expect 900 men raised to my banner Lord Ashdown."

"My Lord Reyne, the fall of Castamere robbed the Ashdown family of much as well. We were near bankrupt, and the terms imposed on us by the Lannisters nearly crippled us, but the war was decades ago. Two generations and twice as many winters have passed since that day and the wounds have healed. I have no wish for my family to bleed again. I wish you well, but I wish for no part in this coming battle you seek."

"I understand your hesitance and your reasoning," said Karolus. "When you last answered the call of the Reyne family your house was nearly destroyed. Your father killed and wealth seized for reparations. Yet, the wounds have not all healed as you claim and this war is not over. Tywin Lannister sought to kill every last Reyne, but he missed one and now I aim to kill every last Lannister in recompense. I also aim to tear down and destroy those who stand beside him and support him. If you refuse to stand with me, then I can only assume that you stand with Tywin. Yet, I believe I can sway you yet," said Karolus rising.

"Are you familiar with magic Lord Ashdown?"

"I am not, nor do I believe in mummers tricks."

"Neither do I, which is why I studied and sought out tutors who knew the arcane arts rather than those whom only pretended to. It cost a small fortune, much of what remained that my grandfather had squirrelled away for us. There are different types of magic, but not all are able to be learned by a single person, even if they have an affinity for one style of the arcane," said Karolus, holding up his hand. Lord Ashdown staring stupefied as blue lines began to trace their way up the young lord's hand and arm.

"What in the name of the Seven," said Ashdown breathlessly.

Karolus pointed his hand towards the wall of the mess and a shimmering ball of black and red appeared at the end of his fingers, before with a _crack_ it flew from his hand and impacted the wall, tearing out a section of wall in an explosion of stone. Large enough for a man to stick his head through. Another ball of black light appearing at the tips of his fingers, before disappearing along with the blue lines of light on Karolus' arm. He smirked at Lord Ashdown who looked between the young lord and the wall where the ball had impacted with wide-eyed amazement. Karolus' men hooting in approval at the act.

"My mother was born with the gift you see, a mage though she never fully realized her potential, not that I scold her for it. For a time, I too cared little for the Lannisters, or power, or magic, believing too that the war was over. That old wounds had healed. I was studying the merchant craft, planning on spending my days buying and selling things like wool, timber, and grain. Yet, Lord Tywin did not see fit to let things rest. He found me and my mother and attempted to finish what he started all those years ago. I survived, but Lord Tywin claimed another Reyne that day. The last Reyne her would ever claim I swore and I dedicated myself to perfecting the gifts I was born with. Tywin tore open the wounds that should have been healed long ago and I aim to see that only Lannister blood flows from such an injury."

"If that is...then he is," said Ashdown looking back at Berserker, sounding as they he was growling even as he breathed.

"A heroic spirit that I summoned to do my bidding. No mortal blade can harm him, nor will the elements slow him. Hunger and fatigue do not plague him and so long as I can sustain him, he can fight until the end of time. Lately, it has become increasingly easy to do so. You saw how easily he killed those men? That was nothing for Goliath. He did not even need to use his noble phantasm."

"N-noble phantasm?" asked Lord Ashdown, voice wavering. "What noble phantasm do you speak of? Something this...monster is capable of?"

"More on that later, if you join me that is. Know that if you refuse I will honour guest rites and leave peacefully. Your family will need not fear me and should I fail, then it will be as if this conversation never happened. However, once I return after dealing with the Lannisters, I will return to deal with you and I shall do so in a manner that even Lord Tywin would find fitting of traitors. What say you Lord Ashdown?"

Xxx

Get it off! Get it off! GET IT OFF!" shrieked Septa Alayna, sounding and looking close to tears as she held up her leg, stretching out her foot as if trying to keep it as far from the rest of her body as possible.

Arthur had come crashing through the underbrush when he had first heard the Septa's screams. Sharp and shrill they had cut through the forest like a harpy's shriek and Arthur had feared the worst for the young woman. Instead, upon reaching her he saw that she had been bathing and in the process of dressing again when she had discovered that a leech had attached itself to her ankle.

"Get it off!" mewled Septa Alayna, seemingly unable to look at the black leech that had latched onto her.

Calmly Arthur grabbed hold of the woman's ankle and used his fingernail to dislodge the leech, quickly throwing it away as it detached, blood welling up around where it had been feeding. A crimson bubble against the pale skin. Arthur took a handful of water from the stream and splashed it over the wound, cleaning it, before wrapping a strip of linen around it.

"Dreadful things," said Septa Alayna with a shudder. "Thank you for coming to my aid Ser Arthur. You don't-don't think it was carrying any diseases do you?" asked the Septa nervously, quickly checking herself over for any more leeches.

The septa was a young woman, perhaps nineteen years old, but with the blood of old Valyria running in her veins. Her purples eyes and long silvery platinum hair that fell to her waist speaking of her heritage. She was also a city girl, fully suited for life within a castle or large sept teaching and instructing in the arts of reading, writing, cooking, and domestic duties, but completely unsuited for the road.

"I don't believe that it will make you ill, but I would suggest against bathing in the stream again any time soon. Water from a basin and a cloth will do just as well I should think."

"Madeline warned me about it, but I so wanted to have a bath again," said the platinum haired septa morosely. "I had hoped to wash my clothes after and-oh no no no!" moaned Alayna, looking around to see that her septa robes had been knocked into the stream and carried away in her encounter with the leech. Leaving her in only a thin cotton shift to cover her decency, the Septa's face flushing in embarrassment at the realization and she made to cover herself as though she were nude.

Arthur unclasped his travelling cloak and draped it over the shoulders of the septa, who pulled it around herself like a coat, face still flushed pink with embarrassment.

"You must think me quite incompetent," said Alayna quietly.

"I think nothing of the sort my Lady. I do not expect anyone to be good at everything, nor suited for everything. Have you seen my attempts at sewing? I can assure you that they are quite ghastly to behold."

"Then perhaps I could teach you how to properly sew sometime? If you would like that is. Or I could just fix your cloak for you," said Septa Alayna playfully poking a finger through a hole in Arthur's travelling cloak.

"I would most enjoy your company and tutelage my dear Lady Alayna, but I must confess that I most enjoy hearing you sing as we travel. Your voice is quite lovely."

"Oh that? Just choir songs, nothing overly special," said Alayna modestly. "Ser Arthur, if you could would you mind escorting me back to our camp? I fear in all the excitement I have quite forgotten my way and dressed as I am, I would feel much better with proper escort."

"Of course," said Arthur offering his hand which the septa eagerly took, before claiming the rest of his arm as well. Clutching it close to her bosom with only her thin cotton shift to separate them. Trapping it next to her under the cloak she covered herself with.

"I fear I must apologize for the familiarity Ser Arthur, but I am ill at ease within these woods and having a knight such as you so close is a comfort to me. Pray only I could find such a comfort for the bites levied against me by these cursed bugs," said Alayna.

"I know of several simple remedies and doubtless Septa Madeline knows many more. The one that comes most immediately to mind is honey applied to the bite or a compress of milk. I am sure that you could easily find relief with those. We have both readily available in our provisions."

"An excellent idea Ser Arthur, yet I fear that many of these bites are in places that are not easily reached by my own hands."

"Well I am sure that Septa Madeline would be able to help you most readily in that regard."

"I would not mind were you the one to so help me Ser Arthur," said Alayna, voice taking on a slight purr as she spoke.

"I would not be so bold as to intrude upon you in such a manner," said Arthur.

"I wouldn't think of it as intruding at all," said Septa Alayna.

The snapping of twigs and moving of brush made both of them look to see a huffing Madeline trying to navigate the dense foliage in her voluminous septa robes that seemed to snag any and every branch that she happened by.

"I see she is not dead then," huffed Madeline, twigs sticking out of her robes.

"Just a small wound, courtesy of a vile leech," said Alayna, displaying her bandaged ankle. "One that Ser Arthur here managed to vanquish in short order."

"Where are you clothes Alayna?" asked Madeline, seeing her cohort dressed mostly in Arthur's travelling cloak.

"A casualty of the attack I'm afraid," said Alayna.

"Was your modesty a casualty of the attack as well?"

"What do you mean? Ser Arthur is simply escorting me back to camp and has lent me his cloak. Surely you do not think Ser Arthur would try immoral things with me do you?"

"It is not Ser Arthur that I am concerned with trying immoral things," said Madeline bluntly.

"You dare presume?" said Alayna, face colouring.

"My dear ladies, perhaps this conversation would be best continued when are bellies are full and we are all fully clothed so we are not so quick to levy accusations or take offence with our own stomachs rebelling against us?"

"A most excellent suggestion Ser Arthur," said Alayna beaming. Wet hair shining like polished silver in the sun, fully ignoring the glare from Madeline as they all made their way back to camp.

Xxx

The dreams were a common occurrence for Madeline now, but more than that she quite looked forward to them now. The more that she saw of Arthur's life, the more she felt that she came to understand him, but the more she understood, the more that she wanted to know.

This time was different than the others. Arthur was younger here, a boy on the cusp on manhood at fifteen years old, but with a much sterner look on his face than one would have expected for someone of his age to possess.

There were lords clustered around a sword stuck into a stone and a small crowd of peasant onlookers. There was also Arthur, lacking any royal finery or carrying any marks of nobility. Dressed not in the rags of a peasant, but nor was he dressed in the clothes of a lord.

There was also another figure, one dressed in flowing voluminous robes that covered them head to toe. The person's face was hidden in darkness, even as Arthur stepped forwards, stopping short as the figure held out a hand to the young king.

"Arthur, I want you to know something before you attempt this. If you try to pull out the blade, you will succeed. However, you will set yourself upon an impossible task. You will unite Britain, become King, rule justly, and your people will know happiness. They will live on and their children shall have children of their own for many generations. Yet, you will die, and your life will end in misery. Fate has been set for Britain to fall, it is not something that a mortal can stop. Do you still wish to pull the sword from the stone?"

The young Arthur paused, back turned to Madeline so that she couldn't see the look on his face, but she heard his voice clearly, the other voices of the memory fading into the background.

"If I must suffer and die so that my people may live...than that is what I must do," said Arthur, steely resolve in his voice. He strode forwards with utter confidence and approached the sword in the stone, grasping and pulling it out effortlessly. Holding it up to the sky.

"He defied fate itself for ten years you know. He ruled for ten years longer than all the prophesies said that he would, ten years longer than even God had intended. Even when he fell England did not have half the calamity that it was foretold to have. Such was the will and courage of Arthur. He knew that he couldn't succeed, yet he struggled right to the end for his people against all odds. Septa, I'm talking to you," said the hooded figure, and Madeline looked to the figure startled.

She saw a woman who looked like she had the blood of old Valyria running through her veins with silvery hair and purple eyes. A coy smile on her face.

"This...is a dream though," said Madeline dumbly.

"A dream of a memory from a man long passed from this world, yes," answered the woman simply.

"Then how are you talking to me?" asked Madeline.

"It's simple really, magic."

"Oh. Who are you exactly?" asked Madeline more confused than before.

"I am Merlin. I was Arthur's court wizard, teacher, and advisor. I was also his friend, but in the end even I could not protect him," said Merlin, sounding morose at the fact.

"He was a great king, wasn't he?" asked Madeline.

"He was the greatest," said Merlin without reservation. "I tried to teach Arthur to be just and wise. To be strong and courageous so that England would have a good ruler when his father passed from this world. Arthur turned out to be a man greater than any other I could have hoped to prepare for the task. A king worthy of being called such, and a warrior who fought only to protect his people. Never taking up arms for vainglorious conquest. He is the only one I could imagine who can save my homeland from the coming Night King." There was a flicker then, like the world itself was getting distorted and the sky overhead darkening, Merlin herself looking to the heavens above, apprehension on her face.

"Time grows short for now I fear. I have so much to tell you, but so little time to make you understand. The true threat is to the North, but what you need to find first is in Essos. Arthur has his sword, but he needs the strength to wield it. He needs an army, but he has to go to Valyria to find it."

"What do you mean? I thought Arthur was just a spirit? What is he supposed to fight if he's dead?" asked Madeline as cold winter winds began to blow through the clearing, bringing snow with them. Madeline herself feeling the cold, even if this was only a dream which shouldn't have been possible.

"My dear Septa, who ever said that Arthur was dead?" asked Merlin with a smile. Then the dream faded away and Madeline awoke.

She stared at the darkened interior of their tent, thinking for a moment that Merlin had followed her into the waking world, but as the fog of sleep cleared she saw that it was only Septa Alayne bundled up in her sleeping roll. Breathing softly as she slept, untroubled by the dreams that came to Madeline near nightly now.

The crackling of a fire sounded form outside the tent and Madeline got up quietly as to not disturb the other woman. She saw Arthur tending to a small cooking fire, preparing breakfast for the three of them, wearing simple dour coloured travelling clothes, a sword of regular steel on his hip. The blue light of early morning still hanging over their camp and the sun yet to rise fully to banish to chill away with its golden rays.

He regarded her with his clear green eyes as she exited the tent, bowing his head in subservience, and to respect her decency, dressed as she was in a simple shift.

"Breakfast is almost ready Master," said Arthur, but seeming to be distracted at though lost deep in thought.

"What troubles you Ser Arthur?" asked Madeline, kneeling next to her knight.

"I can feel something troubling Master. This man we go to fight, Lord Reyne. I believe he has also summoned a servant like me to his side. That he has made a pact with another heroic spirit. I do not know the power or what class of servant he has summoned, but I can feel it, just as I imagine that it can feel me."

"You can win though, can't you?" asked Madeline, concerned. She had seen the power of Arthur when he had fought with the raiders who had attacked WillowBirch, but even that power that Arthur had shown she felt had only been a tiny portion of what he was truly capable of.

"I have never shied away from a fight Master, but I am not invincible," said Arthur seriously. "I believe that my abilities are enough to best most that we could encounter, but if the spirit we encounter is a man with red eyes cloaked in golden armour with a sheen of gold hair, I want you to run. I will buy you as much time as I am able, but I want you to run as fast and far as your feet and my courser can take you."

"Arthur, hearing such words come from you makes me afraid," said Madeline taken aback by the seriousness with which Arthur spoke of the man. "If it is this man that we encounter, then we will flee. We will both flee together. I will not lose you to such an errand. At the tourney, when I thought that the Mountain had injured you, the only thought that filled my mind was seeing you well again. The fear of losing you was more than I can bear. Is still more than I can bear. You came when no one else would, and you have given me and all those you have met hope. For me to bury you, would be for me to bury my last reason for living."

"I will not run from a battle Master. I will not show cowardice, nor put others at risk to save my own life. I understand your concern, but I can not change who or what I am."

"You will if I command you to!" said Madeline savagely, showing the command seals on the back of her hand, a ripple of light seeming to travel across them. Arthur's eyes going first to the seals on the back of Madeline's hand and then back to her eyes. He said nothing, but his eyes said all that was needed and it made Madeline's stomach sick to see the disapproval in them.

"Make me a promise Arthur. Promise me by all the gods old and new, by the one you believe in, and upon your knighthood that if you face an enemy you cannot best you will flee with me. If you want we will face that enemy at another time when we are more sure of victory, but do not fight a battle where you are sure of your death. Do not leave me without my knight at my side. My heart could not bear it. I...I don't want to be alone," said Madeline quietly. "If you stay and fight, then I will not flee. I will stand with you and if you fall I shall soon follow."

"Master, that is not how this is supposed to be. I am to be your sword and shield. If one of us is supposed to fall, it is to be me. You are supposed to continue living if I meet my end."

"A husk with its heart removed is no more alive than a piece of driftwood pushed about by the waters of the river. If you truly wish for me to live, then you will do everything to ensure that you do as well. That is my condition," said Madeline firmly. "I wish for us to be as equals in all we do, but if I must be the master to see you stay alive...then a master I will be," finished Madeline.

"I understand Master," said Arthur after a pause. The crackling of fire the only sound between them. "I will swear as you ask, but on one condition and one condition only. If I am to die in battle outside of either of our control, you will not stay to die with me merely for the sake of dying. Life is much too precious to have it tossed away in such an idle manner. I wish for you to experience it to the fullest if you are so able."

"If that is what I need for your promise, then you have my word," said Madeline.

"And you mine my Lady," said Arthur solemnly.

Xxx

Alayna had been singing as they travelled down the Kings Road and even Madeline had to admit that the Septa had a lovely voice to listen to. Arthur rode his brown courser next to their cart, riding with the bearing of a king. Gaze only ever looking forwards to the horizon.

Alayna stopped singing as they approached a group of knights and men-at-arms bearing the King's banner blocking the road ahead. Though the knights looked familiar to Madeline, and with warm hearted smile that crossed Arthur's face confirmed her suspicions as he rode ahead and greeted them before their challenge.

"Hail Ser Robert and Ser Edgar! I trust that both Ser Edwards, Ser Doyle, and Ser Paul are with you here this day?"

"Ser Arthur?" asked Ser Robert, surprise in the former hedge knight's voice, before smiling widely. "Well met friend, what are you doing out in these parts?"

"My Lady, one of her companions and I have come to try and help those put to hardship by this Lord Reyne. What are you doing here?"

"Keeping travellers away from the battle. Not the most glorious of positions for a knight in his first battle with his new liege lord, but it beats sleeping under hedges and begging for food."

"Battle?" asked Arthur curiously.

"The King took his household guard and most of Lord Stark's with him to go and fight Lord Reyne. The Bandit Lord has a couple hundred men with him at most and a force of over two thousand strong Lannister soldiers has joined the King in this battle. Should be over rather quickly I would think. He left Lord Stark and most of the King's Guard back in Kings Landing to oversee things there so I'm told. The King was practically giddy with excitement when he learned there was a rebellion to put down. He had that poor bastard Lancel running around getting him a new set of armour to fit him. Left in the middle of the night from Kings Landing first he heard of it with only four hundred men at his back."

"Lord Reyne is here? Then," said Arthur trailing off.

"Don't you worry about it Ser Arthur, I doubt that you'd be able to get your armour on in time to see the battle anyways. Come, have a cup of wine and tell us how you've been since we last saw you. _I_ would also like to see your new travelling companion as well. Always been partial to the silver hair of old Valyria and her voice is lovely," said Ser Robert with a silly grin on his face.

"She's a septa too," said Ser Paul, the young knight in a reproachful, yet teasing manner to his old mentor.

"Oh hush up Ser Paul, a man can be polite can't he?" asked Ser Robert in mock offence.

"Oh you want to be more than polite," said Ser Paul.

"Pray that you forgive me, but I can not stop for idle chatter Ser Robert. I must see myself to the battle," interrupted Arthur.

"Without armour? Even if I were permitted to allow such madness I would not Ser Arthur. We are under orders to keep all travellers away lest they be caught in the crossfire. I cannot let you pass."

"Then I pray you forgive me Ser Robert, but I can not let you stop me. If need be I will force my way through."

"Ser Arthur...I don't want to fight or hurt you," said Ser Robert like he was being forced to do something very unpleasant.

"Nor I you, but I have a duty to see through."

"As do we Ser Arthur," said Ser Robert.

"I know, and you honour your lord in your loyalty, yet my need remains."

A crash like thunder sounded, and all parties looked back to the village where Lord Reyne had holed up and King Robert had pursued him to. A plume of smoke and dirt reaching high into the sky. Birds squawking and cawing in fear and displeasure as they took from their roosts to the sky. The screams of men chasing them into the air.

"What in the name of the Seven?" breathed one of the Ser Edwards stupefied.

"Arthur, we need to go!" said Madeline running up from the cart, leaving a confused Alayna behind.

"Master!" said barked out Arthur in agreement, pulling the Septa into the saddle and spurring his courser into a gallop. Past the distracted knights and men-at-arms.

"Hey!" said Ser Robert, watching Arthur gallop towards the battle. "Seven damn it!" cursed the older knight.

"Hey! Just because things are tense is no reason to blaspheme," said Alayna primly, taking pause as all those assembled stared at her.

"But...I'm sure that they would forgive such a transgression," said Alayna awkwardly.

AN: Well that's another chapter down and another septa to travel with Arthur, and competition for Madeline. Next chapter will be Arthur vs Goliath. Leave a review and let me know what parts you liked and what parts that you didn't and I'll try to continue to improve as a result. As always, thanks for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

Arthur galloped towards the sounds of screaming men, clashes of steel and crashes like the heavens themselves were falling down coming from ahead. Madeline riding behind him on the courser, grasping on tightly about his waist.

Madeline let out a yelp as Arthur brought the courser up short to stop from trampling fleeing farmers and villagers underfoot. The great warhorse rearing up, and its steel shod hooves lashing through the air, nearly crushing a man covered head to foot in linen bandages. Gibbering to himself, the man was soon calmed and ushered away by a septon, soon rejoining the press of fleeing people. They carried almost nothing of what they owned with them. No gold, no food, no possessions, just their lives and their children if they had any. Running for their lives.

A fresh round of screams erupted and the fleeing mob quickened their pace as another crash sounded from further ahead, dust and dirt clouding the air ahead where the thicket of trees ended and the village began.

"Master, I bid that you wait here for me," said Arthur.

"No, we said that we would face this together," protested Madeline firmly.

"I know Master, but if you are too close to the fighting, the other servant may target you as a way to harm me if it believes that it will not win otherwise, or simply wishes to end the fight. I will not be able to fight to my full extent if I believe that he may target you at any moment."

"I won't leave," said Madeline resolutely.

"I am not asking you to Master, just please stay back at a safe distance. Battles are confusing, messy things. Doubly so when the battle is between two servants. I would never forgive myself for failing as your knight if you were to come to harm."

"Alright," said Madeline slowly, as if pondering the idea with great care. "But if you need help, I'm going to do all I can to help you. Even if it means that I have to fight myself. In saying that, don't hold back for my sake Arthur. Take as much mana as you need. I can handle it now, I'm strong enough."

"Very well Master," said Arthur and bowed his head, before dismounting from the courser.

"What are you doing Arthur? Don't you need the horse?" asked Madeline confused.

"I will move faster without it."

"Hold! Hold damn you two!" came an angry voice as Ser Robert closed the distance between them on his own warhorse, blade in hand.

"Ser Robert, I ask that you leave us be and instead see to the safety of the King's people," said Arthur.

"I see to the King's orders and they were clear Ser Arthur. I am not to allow anyone to approach the battle. By the Seven I don't want to hurt you, but I can't let you two keep going. Just come along and we'll go back and pretend like this never happened."

"My Master has given me an order Ser Robert, and I am honour bound to see it through. Even if I wished to flee, I can not. My course is set."

"Master?" asked the older knight confused. "I don't care what's going on between you two, but you're both coming with me," said Ser Robert and reached to grab hold of Madeline.

Before his hand hand travelled even half the distance to the septa, Arthur had grabbed the knight's wrist and pulled him from the saddle. Ser Robert hit the ground with a clatter of steel and a grunt of surprise. He rose quickly though, sword in hand and in a ready stance.

"I don't want to hurt you Ser Arthur, but you leave me no choice."

"Ser Robert, I will not harm you for you are a good man, but I will defeat you. I ask only that you see reason and put down your sword. I mean no disrespect, but you are incapable of harming me."

"Arrogant bastard!" cursed Ser Robert and swung his sword, but Arthur didn't move to dodge or even make to block with his own blade. Instead he grabbed Ser Robert's sword as it descended by the blade with his bare hand, stopping it dead it its tracks.

"What?" breathed Ser Robert in disbelief, trying to pull his sword free, but finding it stuck in Arthur's grasp. The blade not even having left a blemish of Arthur's skin. He stumbled forwards as Arthur jerked the sword towards himself.

"This fight is over Ser Robert," said Arthur calmly and squeezed his hand into a fist. The blade bending like a twig before snapping just as easily.

Ser Robert took a several steps back in shock, staring at the broken blade in his hand, and then back to Arthur wide-eyed. Fear blossoming in his breast at the cold and stern look that the young knight now wore.

"Arthur, the King needs your help. Go now!" said Madeline as another crash sounded from further ahead. The fleeing peasants having all passed them by, leaving only the cries of men from where the battle was ahead.

"Yes Master," said Arthur and blue particles of light seemed to form from nothing around him in the air. Ser Robert looking on in shock, taking another step back from the young knight. The branches around them began to sway as if caught in a breeze, before starting to shake more violently as a stronger wind began to buffet them. A wind that emanated from Arthur as air began to swirl around him, soon hiding him from view. With a final gust and flash of light, Arthur was revealed again, this time clothed in armour of silvery steel and blue. A hood covering his head and face.

"I bid that you keep my Master safe in my absence Ser Robert," said Arthur. Then he leapt.

To the upper branches of a tree fifty feet tall and over three hundred feet away, before leaping again to another tree, covering vast stretches in an instant.

"You wanted to know how Ser Arthur came to my aid in WillowBirch once upon a time did you not Ser Robert?" asked Madeline to the bewildered and frightened knight.

"I-I," stuttered the knight.

"I prayed. Not to the Seven, not to any god with a name, and not to the heavens above. I prayed that a true knight would come to my aid. I prayed that the a hero would come and help me. That he would save me and all those with me who were going to be butchered alongside me. My Knight came in a beautiful radiance of pure blue light from beyond this realm, before swearing to defend me with his life. He had more power than any man alive, yet he only uses that power to help all that we meet. He is Arthur Pendragon, the King of Knights."

"King of Knights?" said Ser Robert as if in shock, staring where Arthur had gone.

As Arthur cleared the last of the trees, he saw a village and men in Lannister colours fleeing from it. Even those bearing the Baratheon Stag and even a few Stark wolves were running back towards their lines that were even now faltering, with minor lords and commanders trying to maintain order and keep ranks. It was quickly apparent why they were having such difficulty keeping discipline.

A man with deeply tanned skin, at least 12 feet tall, and wearing heavy bronze armour was wading through a small coteries of knights and men-at-arms. Cutting them in half with a sword the size of a man in a single swing, or else crushing them into meaty paste underneath his giant bronze shield. Yet the giant walked at a leisurely pace as he did this. Not so much the attitude of a man fighting, but rather one cutting crops or else swatting at tall grass with a stick as he walked.

Even from such a distance that he was away, he could plainly see the hellish yellow glow of his eyes as if lit by fire from within. A volley of arrows was loosed and Arthur watched them impact the giant, shafts shattering and arrowheads spinning away bent or chipped from both the giant's armour and toughened skin. Muscles like steel cable rippling beneath his bronzed skin as he moved, as though his skin was only a cloth cover for the metal workings underneath.

A swath of dead men were spread around the giant and what seemed to be the path that it had been walking. Broken swords and pieces of bodies were strewn about as if though they were broken toys left laying about by a misbehaving child.

Arthur also saw two Kings Guard, dragging what appeared to be the battered body of Robert Baratheon away from the monster's path. Knights and soldiers throwing themselves at the monster to try and buy the king time.

Farther back behind the giant, Arthur caught sight of what looked to be near 1000 men holding position outside the range of arrows and cheering on the giant as it decimated the Royal and Lannister forces. They carried only 2 sigils though and one of them was a red lion as opposed to the Lannister red. The Reyne sigil.

Arthur leapt from the last of the trees, landing neatly among a press of men trying to flee from the giant. Few noticed him, lost in their panic and fear, and those who did merely redoubled their efforts to flee, believing that another monster had descended among them.

Men ran past Arthur on either side, fleeing from the bronzed giant while Arthur calmly waited for the giant to reach him. With thundering steps the giant was before Arthur, bronze sword raised high and with a casual heave the giant brought it crashing down towards him.

Arthur turned, but only slightly and the bronze blade swung harmlessly by him, his green eyes in the depths of his hood never leaving the glowing yellow ones of the giant. Something like surprise flitted across the giant's face, before being replaced by growing rage and the blade came towards Arthur again, this time with the force that no being of flesh and blood could muster. The blade roaring as it descended with titanic force and crashed into the earth sending dirt flying high into the air, having missed Arthur who had leaned back just enough to avoid the blow.

The giant growled in rage at the fact that the small man was so easily dodging his blows, baring his teeth and raised his bronze shield high into the air, before bringing it down with a crash like a thunderclap, echoing for miles around. Everyone and everything else falling silent as they stared in awe. Both armies merely watching.

Arthur stayed calmly standing where he had been, but had a hand raised above his head, open palm of his armoured hand holding the giant bronze shield back. His feet having sunken several inches into the ground as he had absorbed the force of the blow. The giant's burning eyes opened wide in surprise, but before he could take further action, Arthur balled his free hand into a tight fist and stepped forward, unleashing a full force punch into the giant's midsection. Thunder sounding before Arthur's fist even struck the giant, but when it did the mountain of flesh and bronze was sent rocketing backwards crashing through huts and tearing a furrow through the ground, before managing to arrest itself by stabbing its sword into the ground.

The giant stood back up to its full height radiating killing intent, face twisting into inhuman fury as he readied his weapons. Purplish black light seeming to bleed from the monster, highlighting it, but also giving the impression that it was ablaze in the fires of hell. It roared like an enraged demon, the bellow feeling like a physical assault on Arthur's diaphragm. Air rushing away from the giant, as if to escape the purple energy that lashed out violent into the air around the behemoth, making the cloth of Arthur's apparel billow like a sail caught in a storm. Soldiers of both sides grasping at the ground to keep from being blown away by the force. Animals from miles around fleeing in terror from what their instincts told them was the most dangerous kind of predator that they would ever encounter. The discipline of the Lannister and Royal forces even faltering at the roar, threatening to see them break and run. Only terror transfixing them in place as they hugged at the ground.

Arthur held his hand out to his side and air howled in response around his armoured hand. Screaming and howling like a tornado as it extended outwards as though hugging the contours of an object hidden from sight, before ceasing its shrieking and Arthur grabbing hold of what appeared to be only air. Adopting an ox guard as though he was wielding a blade to those who watched on.

By unspoken command, if one had even been given, the Berserker charged Arthur, disappearing from sight so fast did he move, only to reappear directly in front of Arthur, sword ready to descend. With a clash of metal like a Hephaestus working his forge, the two blades met and the force of them striking each other saw those closest to the battling servants knocked to the ground and the branches of the nearby trees shaking crazily as though caught in a great storm. But it was just the first of many in the exchange.

The Berserker fought true to his class, for Arthur could think of no other type of servant that the man he was fighting could be. It was a wild and ferocious fighting style, more animal instinct that martial prowess. More blind rage than tactical planning, but the skill that the servant had in life remaining in his enraged state.

Arthur blocked a particularly savage blow from the Berskerer, feet digging into the earth as he cut a furrow into it in an effort to arrest his momentum, but the Berserker gave him no respite. It charged after him, hacking at him with his blade and thrusting with his bronze shield alternatively.

Arthur fought defensively, deflecting blows rather than outright stopping them and watching for patterns in how the Berserker attacked. Watching for tells that would let him know when he was going to thrust out with his shield or slash with his blade. Also letting the Berserker fatigue itself and burn through mana at an ever increasing rate as it continued its attack with no signs of slowing. Hoping to strain the other servant's master by weathering the ferocious assault with minimal expenditure on his own part.

Arthur leapt back onto the roof of one of the village huts, before leaping off again as the Berserker threw his shield like a discus at him. A cone of air forming around the bronze disk for an instant before the shield seemed to outrun the air with a resounding BOOM, rocketing towards the King of Knights.

The bronze shield shattered the hut into fragments of wood and pieces of clothe in a violent explosion of force, continuing unhindered through the rest of the village, destroying anything in its path. Then, like a ball attached to a string, the shield returned with equal ferocity to the Berserker's hand, nearly colliding into Arthur's back, with the King of Knights just managing to duck underneath it. An instant later quickly bringing Excalibur up to block a blow that saw the ground erupt around them like the ground was a pustule bursting from pressure, sending geysers of dirt and stone high into the air.

To those watching the battle, Arthur and the Berserker appeared only in brief flashes, their battle more marked by the damage that they inflicted on the terrain around them than actually watching their movements. For the moments that they did stand and exchange blows, they looked more like indistinct blurs than actual combatants so fast did they move.

Arthur saw that the Berserker was not tiring, despite burning through mana at an alarming rate. Which meant that his master was either a mage of godlike power, or more likely, had stored mana for such a situation as this. Yet that didn't matter much anymore, Arthur knew all that he needed to know to go on the offensive.

He delivered a powerful horizontal slash that batted the Berserker's bronze sword to the side, and just like he thought that the Berserker would do, he attempted to back him with his shield instead of cover himself with it. Arthur ducked under the blow and was at the Berserker's side. Instead of strike immediately, he waited and was not disappointed.

The Berserker giant thought only of attack, never considering defence and so as it began to turn to face him, it brought both sword and shield up to bring crashing down on top of the King of Knights.

For an instant the giant exposed his armpit, protected by neither bronze or thickly layered muscle as he raised his arms above his head while turning. It was the only instant that Arthur needed. He rushed forwards with a burst of speed, and sank Excalibur to the hilt into the giant. Running the holy blade through the heart of the beast, hot blood rushing from the wound.

They stood like that for several moments, with Arthur's blade embedded into the giant, before the Berserker tried an awkward cross body slash with its bronze sword, that Arthur dodged, spinning around behind the giant and bringing his sword across the back of its knees. Cutting the tendons and iron hard muscles in a clean stroke.

With nothing to keep it standing, the Berserker fell backwards, still snarling. Only stopping as Arthur rammed Excalibur into the Berserker's neck as he lay on the ground, blood rushing out from around the blade. With a final gurgle the golden light went out from behind the Berserker's eyes and it fell silent.

Arthur withdrew Excalibur from the servant's neck and began walking back the way he had come. The servant was dead, and so now the King's Army would decimate Lord Reyne and his forces. There was no further need of him to remain.

Arthur saw a flash of red light Reyne's army, and felt the mana surge around him, before he heard Berserker begin to rise again. Lord Reyne had used a command seal.

Arthur turned, bringing Excalibur into a guard position as he saw Berserker stand back up to his full height, wounds healing and eyes burning with renewed fire. Then with a second command seal, one that saw red light ripple across the Servant's body, it began to grow and distort. Skin bubbling outwards as though it was going to tear open to release a demon upon the world, the Berserker's limbs extended and stretched in random, violent expansions. Berserker opened his mouth in a wordless howl as he grew dramatically in size, soon towering even above the old growth trees that bordered the village to the South.

Arthur moved then, appearing as a blue streak of to those watching him as he attempted to stop Berserker from growing any larger and fully unleashing his noble phantasm. Excalibur digging greedily into his flesh and tearing through both armour and muscle indiscriminately. Arthur watered the ground with the Servant's blood, letting out a great deluge like a torrential downpour but it wasn't enough. He kept growing and healing at a rate that shouldn't have been possible. Even the magic of two command seals, breathing new life into what should have been a corpse and making him unleash his noble phantasm shouldn't be able to do all of that. And healing from such damage, even if it was an ability of the Servant would be an atrocious drain on mana. No matter how much the Master had stored, it should be depleted by now.

A third ripple of light passed through over the Berserker and Arthur felt the mana rush through the giant, even as disbelief rushed though him.

"That fool!" cursed Arthur, sliding down Berserker's body, Excalibur leaving a bloody trail in its wake.

Berserker's Master had used all three command seals in his bid to win the battle and no longer had any means of controlling his servant. With another servant, if the rapport was high enough, or the spirit noble enough this would not have been a problem. If Madeline had no command seals, Arthur would never dream of harming her. He had sworn an oath to her that no command seal had bid him to, and she was a soul who only wished to help those around her. Nor would Arthur commit such a wanton act of violence. But he was not a Berserker class.

A spirit summoned with unquenchable blood lust and hatred. Madness and anger so profound that nothing but the lash of its master could keep it contained. More beast than a man, more demon than spirit, those who sought out the Berserker class did so for the power they could wield and the unscrupulous nature of the spirit itself. Yet it was dangerous to summon such a spirit for they could turn on their master in an instant. The only safeguard of the master was their command seals. The only thing keeping their servant on a leash and their life secure. A safeguard that Lord Reyne had just discarded in favour of power.

This Berserker, this Goliath that Arthur now recognized stood over a thousand feet tall. Casting the land in darkness with its shadow, its eyes competing with the sun for the intensity with which they burned. His beard like a tangled forest of coarse vines and his blade like a bone ripped free from the earth itself.

With a casual swat with the force of a crumbling mountain sent Arthur flying to the ground where he impacted with the force of a meteorite, obliterating the village sept, leaping out of the way as Goliath's foot came crashing down where had just been laying. The earth shaking violently from the force of the stomp.

Arthur prepared to dodge again, but paused as the Berserker paused as if listening to something, or rather someone talking. Arthur realized that it was its master, Lord Reyne trying to give him an order. Any distraction worked in Arthur's favour now. Such a monstous form would demand an unimaginable amount of mana to maintain and he doubted without a grail being present that Goliath could maintain it for long. Showing no outward change in expression, the Berserker lashed out with his blade, decimating Lord Reyne's forces in an instant. Cutting a great scar into the earth and scouring the land of anything resembling life. One thousand lives snuffed out in an instant. The force of the blow saw trees break from the wind created and the sky darkened for all the dirt and debris tossed into the air. Arthur also felt mana from the blow.

Not mana being expended, but rather mana being absorbed. Goliath was being fed mana for the death and destruction that he levied against every living thing. The more he killed and destroyed, the more mana he would gain. The more mana he gained, the more he could kill and destroy. A self repeating cycle, but one that would eventually end, because even in this world with a moderate amount of mana available in the very air surrounding them, it was nowhere near enough for indefinite life. Yet it was still enough for Goliath to kill and main countless people.

A tremor of fear passed through Arthur, not for himself, but rather for his Master as he saw Madeline at the edge of the treeline, red hair still billowing in the wind and hugging onto Ser Robert as she and the knight fought to stay upright.

Arthur could outlast Goliath, outfight him, hack him to bloody ribbons, and see him defeated, but not before he claimed many more lives. As it stood now he threatened his Master's life and Madeline would be another person that he had failed. Another soul who had placed their faith in him only to see it betrayed. Arthur swore that that would not happen. That it would never happen again. This fight had to end and it had to end now. The time for skirmishing was over.

Arthur held Excalibur away from his body, and with a low howl, the wind began to dissipate around the blade, revealing the tip first. Like a speck of molten gold it appeared, soon spreading like molten steel filling a mold as the invisible air fled from the holy blade. Shining with golden brilliance, Excalibur revealed itself inch by inch. Soon the entire blade was free from its covering, and Arthur grasped it with both hands, making its radiance increase a hundredfold as he held it above his head. Arthur closed his eyes and concentrated.

Those that remained saw golden particles of light begin to form and float through the air, going towards Arthur who stood with Excalibur raised to the heavens. Soon it was as though Arthur was at the centre of a vortex of swirling light, the air for miles around thick with glowing balls of golden light.

Excalibur began to hum with power as seals were released from it.

"Palemedes," said Arthur, the seal requirement coming unbidden into his mind. 'The battle must be one-on-one.'

"Lancelot." 'The enemy must not be an elemental.'

"Galahad." 'The battle must not be for personal gain.'

"Agravain." 'The battle must be for truth.'

"Gareth." 'The battle must to be fought to protect.'

"Gaheris." 'The battle must not be inhumane.'

"Mordred," said Arthur, venom almost dripping from his voice as he said it. 'The battle must be one against evil.'

With a howl of power, that saw golden energy bleed from the edges of Excalibur, Arthur opened his eyes to see Goliath take a thundering step towards him, understanding the threat that the King of Knights posed. But it was too late for the giant to act and Arthur brought his blade back like he intended to swing it.

"Ex... **CALIBUR**!" roared Arthur and brought his holy blade crashing down to the ground, unleashing an unstoppable wall of holy light that blinded even the sun with its radiance. It started at a single point before spreading out like a wave, high and unstoppable consuming everything in its path. The giant Goliath for once using his shield to protect himself, but it wasn't enough. The bronze disc shattered as soon as it met the blow, exposing the giant to the full force of Arthur's noble phantasm.

Goliath bellowed in rage as he was consumed and destroyed, ripped into nothing by the power of Excalibur. The wall of destruction continuing on for miles beyond the giant, tearing a deep wound into the land, even though most of the blast had been directed to the sky. The golden energy looking like it was going to tear the very heavens apart with its fury. The light of Arthur's noble Phantasm being seen in the far frozen north of Westeros as well as in the arid south of Dorne. It lit up the night sky in the Free Cities making them believe that R'hllor was descending upon the world and in the Dothraki plains, they believed that the Great Stallion was galloping across the skies.

A few long seconds later and the light had faded. It was people stopped seeing spots in their eyes and were able to look around again, they saw that the hooded knight with the glowing sword was gone.

Xxx

"I...I...I don't know," was all Ser Robert managed to gasp out as he stared at Arthur, trying to comprehend what he was seeing. What he had just seen.

Arthur stood before him like a god, still clad in his armour of silvery steel and blue. In his hand he held Excalibur, the blade glowing like molten gold in his hand, a poor indication of the power the sword contained within.

"Will...what...is...are you going to kill me now?" asked Ser Robert.

"Kill you?" asked Arthur perplexed, frowning in confusion.

"I know about you, and I," said Ser Robert, before falling to his knees and prostrating himself before Arthur, head in the dirt. "I n-never meant any offence by anything I've done! I swear it! If you're angry that I attacked you, just kill me, leave my men out of this I beg you! Please my Lord, I beg you!" grovelled the knight, cringing as he heard a blade being stuck into the earth. Flinching as a hand fell on his armoured shoulder.

"Ser Robert, please take your head out of the dirt. I will not see such an honourable man prostrate himself before me so."

"M-my Lord?" asked Ser Robert confused.

"I am not a Lord, not any longer at least. I hold no land, no subjects, and no desire to have vassals any longer. I am a Ser, a knight and nothing more. So far as I am concerned, you and I are equals Ser Robert, and I will not see a peer kneel before me in such a way."

Arthur spoke gently, kindly, and offered his hand to the knight to pull him back to his feet, which he did, though shakily.

"I...I don't understand," said Ser Robert. "You have so much power. If you are like...you are, why aren't you sitting on the Iron Throne?"

"I have no right to it," said Arthur simply. "Nor do I desire it."

"But, your strength."

"Is just that. Strength. It gives me no moral superiority or right to act without thought or care. To take and do as I see fit on a whim. Strength does not justify acts of cruelty or malice. It does not relieve me of moral responsibility. You are stronger than the peasants you meet on the road. Why do you protect them rather than kill them and take what they own?"

"It would not be right," said Ser Robert simply. "It would be cruel and demean me as both a man and as a knight. It would shame me in the eyes of the Seven Gods and I could never rest knowing easy knowing what I had done. How I had hurt people who didn't deserve it simply for my own desires."

"Then you have my answer as well. My strength means only that I can better protect those who cannot protect themselves. It is a gift from God that I will not see abused. It is not something that makes me superior to another. A life is still a life and all are of equal value in the eyes of God. I will fight if necessary, but I never kill without regret. It is a heavy thing to swing a blade with the intent to take a life, a labour I try my best to avoid."

"Do...do you want me to keep your identity a secret then?" asked Ser Robert carefully.

"I would prefer it, and ask you to if only to keep undue trouble from my Master, but I will not threaten you to see it so. If you choose to tell the King, or your fellows over a goblet of wine then I will not stop you. I was wearing the same armour people have seen me wearing before, but I doubt many people will believe a hedge knight to wield such power," said Arthur with a small grin, before with a flash of light he was dressed once more in his travelling clothes, the glowing blade of Excalibur disappearing. "I bid you well Ser Robert, God bless."

"Where will you go now then?" asked Ser Robert as Arthur began walking away with Madeline.

"Lord Reyne caused much harm in his rebellion, and my battle no doubt compounded the issue. There are many people who will need help. Those who will need aid and those who will need protection until this turmoil has ended."

"We have money enough to see that all those we encounter can begin to rebuild," said Madeline. "Me and my knight will ensure that we help as many people as we can. We will wander the Westerlands for a time, but then we will travel wherever our feet take us."

"Then I bid you two both good fortune and if you ever need anything of me or my companions. You only have to ask. King of Knights."

xxx

A cry of pain and sobbing had Arthur rushing to the source blade in hand. It was just beyond where they had pitched their tent and into a thicket of brush beside the King's Road.

He knew the voice and as he approached, he saw Septa Alayna sitting on a fallen log with her back to him, sobbing.

"My lady, are you alright?" asked Arthur approaching the septa.

"Don't touch me!" said Septa Alayna, backing away from Arthur quickly, but not in fear of him. If anything, like she was trying to warn and protect him. He soon saw the reason for her sobbing though.

Her wrist and hand were bloody, courtesy of a ragged gash and in her other hand she held a dagger, steel end coated in her blood.

"It was a man," choked out Alayna. "Covered in bandages and gibbering with madness. I only sought to help the septon with him when they were fleeing from the battle where...where the even happened. But the man in bandages touched me when I went to help. He touched me, and...and..he was afflicted with grey scale," said Alayna breaking into a fresh sob.

"My Lady, please, put the knife down," said Arthur calmly.

"I-I thought that I would be fine," said Alayna finally. "That nothing had happened. That the contact had been too brief. But...then the spot appeared and it's been growing. I...I know what happens to people who get grey scale. I've seen it. I don't want to be like that, by the Seven I don't! Then I thought...I thought that I would be strong enough to end my life so that I wouldn't. That I wouldn't have to ask you to do it. But the pain...I wasn't strong enough. By the Seven I'm not strong enough!" sobbed Alayna. Arthur seeing the scaly cracked skin on the back of her hand that held the dagger.

"Everything will be alright Septa."

"No it won't! Ser Arthur I...I need you to do it. I need you to kill me," said Alayna finally. I can't do it and I don't want to be a walking stone. Please...help me."

"I will help you Septa Alayna, but first I need you to give me the knife. Thank you my Lady," said Arthur as he took the knife from the weeping woman.

"Alayna, do you trust me?" asked Arthur gently and Alayna nodded her head quickly. Eyes going wide with surprise as Arthur was consumed by blue light for a moment, then dressed in silvery steel. An elaborate sword and scabbard on his hip.

"You...you're," said Alayna slowly, understanding crossing her face.

"I am, and I can help you my Lady," said Arthur. "I just need you to trust me and give me your hand."

"No! You'll get infected too!" cried Alayna, holding her hand away like it was a venomous snake from both her and Arthur.

"I will not. You do trust me don't you my Lady?"

"I...I do," said Alayna and hesitantly held out her hand from which blood still flowed and the grey spot rested. Arthur took it in his own and concentrated, pouring his mana into Avalon and then into Alayna.

"It feels...warm," said Alayna sounding surprised. "It...it doesn't hurt anymore either," said Alayna and when Arthur let go of her hand gasped in shock as she gazed at her hand. The ragged gash on her wrist had healed and the spot of grey scale had disappeared as well. Leaving her flesh unmarred and whole.

"Avalon allows me to heal wounds and disease so long as I can hold both the scabbard and the person injured. My Lady if you would," said Arthur and gestured for Alayna's hand again. She gave her hand back to Arthur as he took a small rag and his gourd of water, cleaning the blood off of her arm and hand. Arthur pausing as Alayna entwined her fingers with his, a bright blush upon her cheeks and shy smile upon her lips before she buried her head into his chest, hugging him.

"Thank you Ser Arthur," breathed Alayna.

"No thanks is needed Septa. You were in need of aid and I was able to help, nothing more."

'But I want more,' is all Alayna thought as she held the King of Knights.

AN: Well that's another chapter done and I kinda do like Arthur having a butterfly effect on things and giving people hope more than servants fighting all the time, so Mordred will be showing up eventually, but she'll be doing something similar, just slightly different. Also being Mordred so that should be entertaining, though take awhile to happen. Also having a harem but not actually a harem is something I find amusing so I might run with that idea a little bit. Just from reading comments about Prototype Arthur it seems that most people in real life find him incredibly attractive anyways.

As always, thanks for reading and leave a review. I welcome all criticism, both positive and negative.


	8. Chapter 8

"Ser Arthur, what do you think of," began Madeline, stopping when she saw that Arthur, though riding beside their cart atop of his courser, was fast asleep. Head slumped forwards ever so slightly, breathing slow and rhythmic, although his hands still grasped the reins. Ever since his battle with the other servant, he had been in a state of near exhaustion and slept soundly and at great length when they stopped to make camp for the night. Whereas before he had always been the first to rise in the morning and have all the camp chores done by the time any of them rose, he now slept until roused by either Madeline or else Alayna and Madeline understood why, though could scarce believe it even though she had seen it.

The power that Arthur had shown in his battle was something that went beyond the realms of mortal men. His speed and strength had been one thing, but when he had cried out that name. Excalibur. It was like he had unleashed the light of the Seven upon the earth, scouring everything before him in golden radiance of unparalleled destruction. Yet the power did not make him a tyrant or a braggart. He remained the same kind and humble knight that she had met in the sept in what now seemed a lifetime ago. A true knight Arthur still remained.

To simply look upon Arthur as he was, one would never think to suspect the great power that he wielded. Rather they would see a young man sleeping peacefully, the troubles of the world removed from him.

Madeline wondered if Arthur had possessed that amount of power in life and if he had, who or what had manged to kill him? Then again there was something else that Madeline pondered on endlessly.

She kept thinking of that dream she had had and the conversation with the wizard Merlin within. No, dream was the wrong word to describe it, because it had been magical which is how she had been able to communicate, but perhaps there was magic in dreams? In any event, she had spoken with Merlin, and what she had said still kept Madeline's head spinning.

'Whoever said that Arthur was dead?'

What had she meant by that? Arthur himself said that he wasn't entirely sure that he had ever truly died, just that he wasn't entirely alive anymore. Was it possible to return the King of Knights to life, or had she just meant that Arthur could remain as he was for the rest of eternity?

"Why are there so many people gathered ahead?" asked Septa Alayna aloud to no one in particular, breaking Madeline from her thoughts.

They were travelling on the Kings Road and were approaching a small village that the map called Holdfast. A small blip on the land that with villagers and surrounding farmers had maybe three hundred people to its name.

The buildings were made of solid logs and the roofs looked to be actually shingled instead of just woven thatch. This meant that the village was likely more wealthy, or else these buildings had been standing for a long time without rotting or burning down and the families that resided within had managed to save up enough money over the years to improve upon them. Quite an accomplishment in a land where in recent generations it was constantly embroiled in one war or another.

There were homes scattered about in a somewhat haphazard fashion across the land, but buildings with business signs hanging from hooks lined the Kings Road. A tavern, a smithy, a tanner, a shoemaker, and even a butcher shop. There was also a large open cobbled square in front of the largest building in town. A long single story building with stone walls and narrow windows higher than a mans shoulders.

A dark haired man with a long ponytail was standing on top of a stool in front of the stone building and talking to the assembled crowd of people. He wore somewhat better, but much cleaner clothing than the others assembled in front of him. He had a sword on his hip and there was a crest on his tunic. A black dove on a white background. Likely a minor lord and overseer of the village and surrounding area. Perhaps just a landed knight charged with overlooking a larger area than most.

Madeline looked back to Arthur and saw that his eyes were now open, sharp, if fatigued. Roused at the question that Septa Alayna had posed, quickly surveying what was taking place ahead with keen interest.

"So for the crime of thievery, the accused is sentenced to death!" said the man, voice now clear as Arthur and the septas drew closer.

"Oh come on!" said an annoyed and feminine voice. From his vantage point on top of his horse Arthur could see that it was a young dark-haired woman with her hands tied behind her back and two armed men holding her.

"Bring me the axe," said the man atop the stool.

"I mean I agree that ponytail is atrocious, but I don't think that you need an axe for it, a simple razor would do. Then again, the thing looks like it might get up and wander off if you don't kill it proper," quipped the woman, and was rewarded with chuckles from the crowd, but the man with the ponytail flushed with anger.

"Speak again and I'll take your tongue too."

"Aren't you already taking that? It's kind of in my head," said the woman and blew the man a raspberry. Again her antics rewarded her with open laughter from the crowd, but the lord was practically shaking with anger.

"Put the pigs head on the block, I want to make sure that this thing is sharp."

"That thing is called an axe, but I mean when you hardly use something its hard to remember what it's called. That's why we sing such fantastic songs and tell such marvellous stories so people don't forget what things they never use or see are called and what their purpose is," said the woman and theatrically bent over as if looking at something between her legs. "I bet you rather appreciate the songs about courtly love, don't you my Lord?"

Raucous laughter broke out from the crowd, some doubling over and the Lord flushed red in the face with anger and embarrassment. He grabbed the pigs head from the butcher and slapped it down on a chopping block, before grabbing a great axe from the blacksmith and chopping the pigs skull in half, the snout and front half of the skull falling into a waiting basket.

"You sick bastard!" cried the woman. "He had three little piglets and a sow waiting at home. Little Swiney Tim has a bad foot and was relying on Ser Oinks to bring home the bacon so that the Maester could fix it. I mean sure his wife might have put on a little weight since they first met, some might even call her a real pig, but you try keeping your figure after having twenty kids. I mean, they probably weren't all his, and I'm sure that she ate one or two of them, but what mother hasn't wanted to eat their children at one point? Not that I myself have ever eaten children. Well, unless you count seeds that haven't been planted yet. Then I suppose I've eaten a- _lot_ of children," said the woman, bobbing her head and pushing out her cheek with her tongue as she did so. "Thank you, I might be here forever if he takes my head," said the blonde woman as the crowd roared with laughter again.

"Bring out the other prisoner first!" barked the lord with the ponytail.

"Wait, other prisoner?" asked the woman sounding confused, the mirth draining from her voice.

A hooded man wearing the remnants of boiled leather armour was dragged out of the stone building and brought to the chopping block, a canvas bag covering his head. It was quickly removed, revealing a beaten and bloody man who was quickly forced to kneel with his on the block.

"For the crime of rising up in rebellion with the traitorous Lord Reyne, your sentence of death is to be carried out here and now Joseph Strong."

Before Joseph could speak, the lord raised the axe high and brought it down with a meaty thunk, taking the man's head from his shoulders. Blood gushing over the block and the man's body twitching in erratic spasms as the body didn't realize that it was dead just yet.

"Holy shit," breathed the woman, voice cracking.

"Bring up the minstrel next."

"You guys ar-aren't really serious are you?" asked the woman, looking back and forth between the two men holding her. "You're just trying to scare me right?" Silently they began to drag her to the block.

"It was just bread! It was only some lousy bread!" cried the woman fearfully, trying to dig in her heels and fighting against the men holding her, but her petite frame too small to resist their strength. "I was just hungry! I can pay! I can! My lute is worth far more than the bread, just take that!" pleaded the woman, thrashing in the grip of the two men holding her. Grabbing her head and forcing her face into the still hot and wet blood on the wooden block of Joseph Strong.

"Oh gods it was just some bread, please don't do this! Please, please, please! It was just some bread! I-I'll work off the debt I promise! Minstrel's can make a fair amount of coin, please, I don't want to die! I don't!" sobbed the woman.

"Not so funny now is it?" hissed the lord into the minstrel's ear.

"N-no. It's not funny, not funny at all," mewled the woman. "P-please I'll do anything you want. Anything at all milord."

"Anything?" queried the lord.

"Y-yes!" cried the woman desperately.

"Good. You can feed the pigs with your corpse."

The woman was sobbing as the axe was raised high, only for cries of surprise to delay its fall as a brown courser forced its way into the centre of the square by the headsman's block.

"What is the meaning of this interruption of justice?" demanded the Lord with the ponytail, holding his axe to the side.

"I pray pardon for my late arrival and ask to still represent the accused in this matter," said Arthur calmly, but with an aura of authority that made all pause and listen to him.

"She has already been sentenced, the trial concluded and the punishment is death," said the lord."

"Sentenced, but not tried," countered Arthur. "At no point was the accused allowed to speak for herself in defence or else have another speak for her on her behalf. I would like to nominate myself for such a position."

"She's already taken an opportunity to speak, and with barbed tongue no less why should I let you speak hmm? Who are you to us?"

"I am Ser Arthur Penndragon, winner of the Hand's Tourney."

Murmurs went through the crowd at the mention of Arthur's name and the phrase 'dragon knight' was said more than once.

"A knight, even one with fame like yours does not give you the right to upend justice that is to be done."

"No, of course not, but I would wonder pray tell if any of us would call being sentenced without being able to speak in our own defence as justice? Are we not people of reason and civility?" asked Arthur directing his question to the villagers around him who began to nod in agreement. After all, who would openly admit that they irrational and barbaric?

"And did we not do away with such injustice, where a life would be snuffed out as easily as a candle flame at the behest of one man who had only heard one side of the story when we did away with the Mad King? That in a community such as this where everyone works together, depends on each other for survival, especially with the long winter that will eventually come, should we not treat the taking of life with the utmost seriousness? That a lord who serves you all, should act in the best interests of his people and reflect the values of the community?" asked Arthur and received nods of agreement, even from some of the guards.

"She has already spoken, and not well," said the lord stiffly, still holding the axe.

"No, she did not speak well, but minstrels are famed for their quick wit and sharp tongue. Their trade relying on their ability to poke fun at those around them and use bawdy humour to both amuse and scandalize their audience. Alas these talents often run afoul when matters of more serious import are at stake."

"I still see no reason to allow you to speak Ser Knight, and were you a commoner I would see you put in stocks for this interruption."

"Then I thank you for your restraint my Lord," said Arthur. "I would like to add before we go any further that talking does work up quite a thirst in my throat and my companions and I have been on the road for quite some time already and are nearing the point of needing more supplies," added Arthur addressing his words to the crowd this time.

"Were I allowed to speak, I would doubtless need drink to wet my throat after such an event and who can drink without food to go with it? I would also take the opportunity to have the shoes of my horses checked, our cart inspected, repaired if needed, and purchase fresh provisions for the road ahead. We are doing charity work and helping those rebuild who were affected by the uprising of Lord Reyne. If I am not allowed to speak and this sentence is carried out as it stands then my companions and I am afraid would have to continue on our way, wary of doing business or offering charity with those quick to resort to the harshest of punishments over what I can only assume to be a minor offence."

"The offence is not minor, nor is this sentence harsh. It is just, and your offer of coin is just short of bribery Ser Knight."

"I offer no such bribe, only payment for services that to be rendered, in a civil society. A society that respects law, order, and restraint. If she is guilty as you say then what is there to lose by allowing me to speak? Her head will still part from her shoulders and I may go on my way speaking of the just application of law in Holdfast and strict adherence to the rule of law. I believe that is common practice for a fee to be paid to the local magistrate to provide someone to speak on the behalf of the accused is it not?"

"It is, but the _accused_ in question has no money."

"Then I would like to pay the fee myself for being allowed to speak on her behalf."

"Alright. A gold dragon then if you still want to speak," said the lord with a smirk and there were some low gasps at the outrageous amount that was demanded.

"A reasonable amount for the chance to see a life spared the headman's axe," said Arthur and handed over the golden coin without pause much to the surprise of the lord, then dismounted from his horse.

"My lady, what is your name?" asked Arthur gently to the woman still letting out hiccuping sobs.

"V-veronica Hill," choked out the woman, pale with fear.

"Well met Lady Veronica. Here, allow me to help you to your feet," said Arthur.

"What are you doing?" demanded the lord.

"Helping the accused to her feet. The headman's block is for those who have already been sentenced, not those partaking in a trial. Or do I have the wrong of it my Lord?"

"No. You don't," said the Lord irritably and waited impatiently as Arthur cleaned the blood from the minstrel's face.

"Now then, what is Lady Veronica accused of?"

"Thievery," said the Lord promptly.

"A serious crime to be sure," agreed Arthur. "What is she accused of stealing?"

"Two loaves of bread from the baker this morning."

"Two loaves of bread?"

"Aye, that's what I said."

"Did anyone see Lady Veronica take the bread?" asked Arthur looking around at the assembled crowd.

"No, but I saw her eating it," said a guard holding onto a polearm.

"And she did admit to taking it when they were taking her to the block," added a woman from the crowd, the rest of them nodding along in agreement.

"So it is established that she took the bread and is guilty," said the Lord, lightly bouncing the axe on his shoulder.

"May I ask who the affected party is in this matter? Who was the bread stolen from?"

"That would be me my lord. I'm George, the baker," said a man approaching his middle years and an expanding belly from too much good drink and food.

"Well met George. May I ask the value of the bread taken?"

"Well, I normally sell if for about 3 coppers a loaf when its fresh, two if its a day old."

"And was the bread fresh or old?"

"It was fresh, just baked it this morning."

"So you suffered a loss of potentially six coppers, maybe four if those loaves didn't sell today correct?"

"That's about right yeah. Not the first time that someone's stolen bread that I've baked and I'm getting right tired of it my lord."

"Of course it would be frustrating, and justice needs to be done," admitted Arthur. "May I ask who some of the other thieves have been?"

"Well the one that comes to mind is the town drunk Gregory. He's done it at least twice now, stole near a dozen loaves last time."

"And where is this Gregory now?"

"Likely sleeping off drink in a ditch somewhere."

"May I ask how he was punished both times?"

"Well, first time he was ordered to pay it back, so we put him to work around the village, mucking out the stables, and helping with harvest until he had enough money to pay back what he took. Next time he was put into the stocks for a couple of days."

"And you found those punishments suitable I would presume?"

"Yeah, I did. Seeing him rot in the stocks and muck about in shit put a smile on my face for sure."

"Then why do you want Lady Veronica here to die for the same crime?" asked Arthur gesturing to the still sobbing minstrel, blood clumping her hair together.

"W...well I don't," said the man taken aback as he was put on the spot with all eyes on him.

"So then would you be satisfied with the amount repaid for the bread taken and coin to soothe the sting of insult that the theft inflicted?"

"I suppose so, but that's for the law to decide," said George, the baker clearly wanting out of the spotlight.

"Of course, it is for the law to decide. Lady Veronica, how old are you?" asked Arthur turning to the minstrel all but clinging to him.

"S-seventeen my Lord."

"And why did you take the bread?"

"I was h-hungry my lord. I-I had no money," sobbed the woman.

"Why did you not have any money?"

"L-lord Reyne's men robbed me on the road and m-made me p-play for them. I r-ran away when they fell asleep," hiccuped the minstrel.

"Thank you my lady," said Arthur, before turning back to the gathered crowd, pacing as he spoke. "Veronica Hill is a travelling minstrel. She makes her money by playing and singing in inns and taverns. She relies on the generosity of those she plays for that in appreciation for her talents they will reward her for her talents. If they are not feeling generous she does not eat. Yet, she still leads the honest life of a minstrel, believing in the generous and honourable nature of those she meets. She herself was the victim of a violent crime but mere days ago, escaping with little but the clothes on her back, and thankfully her virtue intact. I don't believe that I need go into detail the horrors that such brigands would levy on such a beautiful woman as Veronica Hill." Arthur swept his gaze among the crowd to ensure he had their attention before continuing.

"So, with no money, tired feet, and a belly burning with hunger Lady Veronica smelled the tantalizing scent of freshly baked bread coming from good George's bakery. What did she do? She gave into temptation and took the bread so that she could banish the gnawing hunger in her belly. So that she could live. An act that we can not overlook simply because of circumstance, but one that I believe we can all sympathize with. Now, this is not the first time this has happened as good George here has said and I doubt that it will be the last. Yet, not one of those instances resulted in the death of the guilty party. A man, who stole six times what Veronica did was allowed to work off his debts, and he has stolen more than once. So then why is it that a seventeen year old woman, barely more than a girl must die for the same crime? That is a question that we must be asking ourselves."

"You there, you own the tannery do you not?" asked Arthur pointing to the man who was clearly the tanner.

"Aye, I do."

"What happens if you don't pay your taxes on time?"

"I see very little connection between your line of questioning and the trial at hand," said the Lord interrupting Arthur.

"There is a great connection my Lord, I only ask for patience so that the meaning of it can be revealed."

"Then make it quick," muttered the lord and Arthur turned once more to the tanner.

"I'm made to pay interest on the amount until I pay them off completely."

"Is this the same punishment every time?"

"It is."

"What if next time they took your hands because you couldn't pay your taxes?"

"But...that's not the punishment," said the man flustered at being put on the spot, but a light of realization flickering behind his eyes.

"No, it's not and neither was beheading for Gregory when he committed the same crime as Lady Veronica here, yet he stole six times what she did. So then why are we demanding her head for the same, yet lesser offence when we've been satisfied with less permanent means of punishment before? Would it be fair if I took your hands when you failed to pay your taxes on time, but only made George pay interest on the amount?"

"No, it wouldn't," said the tanner slowly.

"No, it wouldn't," agreed Arthur. "So why is it fair that we do this to Lady Veronica? We've already established a fitting punishment for theft, and what do we get by claiming her head? Surely not the bread back, and surely not the money of its worth. If anything it ends up costing the village more, because you must then pay someone to dig the hole to bury her in. And truly, who wants to see the beautiful Lady Veronica die for such a crime? Would killing a woman hardly more than a girl for wanting to live allow anyone here to sleep easy tonight? Justice must be done of that there is no doubt, but we must ask ourselves what kind of justice we want. If we want arbitrary justice that can be death or a scolding that changes based on the day or the mood, or if we want justice that fits the crime. That is an even and measured response to the offence. The Seven extol in us virtues to follow, yet I can hardly see the Warrior finding it courageous to kill such a young woman, or the Mother to find mercy or love in the act. Thank you for your time and God bless," said Arthur.

"Well spoken Ser Arthur. Well spoken indeed," said the lord with the ponytail. "But my judgment still stands. In times such as these we must take a hard stance against those who would wish to turn to thievery. The penalty is still death."

"I see," was all Arthur said, eyes giving away nothing, even as the minstrel by his side began to sob heavily again. A messy affair that made her nose run and eyes turn puffy and red from the tears. Quiet murmurs of dissension beginning to emanate from the assembled crowd at the order.

"Bring her back to the block," said the lord gesturing and his two guards made to grab the woman, only to have their hands gently, but firmly pushed away by Arthur.

"My Lord, I has one final argument to make if I may."

"Oh, what now?" huffed the Lord.

"If Lady Veronica here so wishes, she may yet ask for trial by combat and should she choose it, I would gladly be her champion. Where my words have failed her, I guarantee you that my steel will not."

"Pay the price of bread and ten copper grievance fee and be out of Holdfast by sunset," said the Lord, sensing the mood having turned sharply against execution and not wishing to test himself or any of his men against the Dragon Knight. Arthur's eyes having turned hard and sharp enough that a simple look from them could cut steel. "Judgement is passed."

Xxx

"That was quite the speech, wasn't it Al-Alayna?" asked Madeline perplexed upon seeing her friend absent. "Alayna where are you?"

Madeline dismounted the cart only to see Septa Alayna sitting up against one of the wheels, hugging her knees close to her chest. Eyes wide as if unseeing or else blank in fear, face a sickly greenish colour, and a cold sweat upon her skin.

"Alayna, are you alright?" asked Madeline concerned, hurrying to her friend's side.

"I...I don't do well at the sight of blood," said the platinum haired Septa faintly. "A little bit is okay, but to see," paused Alayna covering her mouth like she was trying to hold back her stomach, before continuing. "It's too much," finished the woman simply. "It's why I prefer my books and my knitting."

"We'll just not look at the grisly spectacle and get something to drink and eat instead."

"I don't think I could eat anything right now," said Alayna. "In fact I fear standing may be beyond me for the immediate future."

"Then I shall stay with you until such a time arrives," said Madeline, sitting down beside the buxom septa.

"You do not have to stay on my account," protested Alayna, voice sounding far away, like the words were listless air whispering out of her mouth.

"We are friends are we not? Of course I do," said Madeline.

"Thank you, for everything," said Alayna finally. "Not just for this, but the journey and allowing me to come. I know that I imposed myself."

"A welcome imposition then," said Madeline smiling. "If I can ask, why does the sight of blood bother you so? Is it just the sight of it?"

"I...I don't know," said Alayna. "Blood itself doesn't seem to bother me. At least not small amounts, even to see one of the scullery maids cut themselves, but that much...and the dead man," said Alayna voice faltering. Madeline saw Alayna's shoulders slump and a moment later she was like a puppet with the strings cut falling over onto Madeline's lap.

Madeline laid the other septa out on the ground and a moment later she came to again, blinking as if to clear her vision.

"Sorry," slurred the septa and Madeline shushed her, helping her back into a sitting position.

"It..I just feel," began Alayna after they had sat for a few moments. "When I see...that, it is like the whole world fades away and panic grips my chest. I can't breath, my heart beats so fast it is as if it is going to flee from my chest, and I can hear nothing save for a ringing as everything around me spins. Sometimes...sometimes it's like I can almost see something. The thing that makes me lose all reason...but...but."

"It is alright Alayna, I will press you no further. Tell me instead of what has transpired at the Great Sept of Baelor in my absence?"

"Oh you know," grinned Alayna, colour starting to return to her face. "Just the usual scandal."

xxx

"I beg your pardon if the water is cold my lady," said Arthur as he wiped the last of the blood from the minstrel's face.

"The water is warm enough, but I'm no lady my lord," said Veronica, voice subdued.

"Of course you are, just without fine vestments or diamonds on your fingers. I believe that all deserve an equal voice and equal respect."

"Even for wandering bastard minstrels?"

"I would never use such words to describe you my Lady."

"Just because you won't say them doesn't make them any less true. I can't pay you back you know, not the amount you paid the lord."

"I do not seek compensation My Lady. Seeing your head remain upon your shoulders is more than enough reward for me."

"Ser Arthur, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course My Lady."

"Why did you stand up for me? I'm nobody, just some bastard that can pluck some strings."

"You are Veronica Hill, and you were in need of help. My knightly vows and the code of chivalry bids me to help those in need. I would have forsaken my vows and dishonoured myself had I left you to such an unjust fate."

"Is that the only reason that you did it? For your personal honour?" asked Veronica a trace of bitterness in her voice and Arthur fell silent for a few moments, a faraway, almost melancholic look in his eyes.

"I don't like seeing innocent people die," said Arthur finally. "I've seen enough death to last me an eternity, yet the horror of it never leaves me unscathed. I fear the day that I stop caring about the lives of other people is the day I stop being who I am and become something much less. To have let you die for such a petty crime would have been to let who I am die right alongside you. Besides, I fear it would have been a most grievous crime to have this world deprived of such a wondrous singing voice. That is, if you would grace us with it Lady Veronica?"

"Such praise, yet you've never heard me sing," said the Minstrel, a blush beginning to spread upon her cheeks.

"I have great faith," said Arthur holding out his hand to Veronica. "If nothing else I bid you to come and join us for a hot meal, the company would be most welcome."

"Well then, I think you will find that I have very rich appetites Ser Knight," said the raven-haired minstrel with a familiar mischievous grin.

"Then I shall have to see if they can be sated Lady Veronica," said Arthur guiding her towards the tavern.

"Oh, I thank you'll be able to sate them just fine," said Veronica salaciously, running her gaze up and down the backside of the King of Knights.

"Well for that we must first place our faith in the skill of the cook," said Arthur blissfully unaware.

xxx

"What is this?" asked Arthur curiously looking at a wood idol, tall as a man and freshly carved with an equally new shrine around it. Offerings and votive candles scattered around it. Foot and knee prints evident in the loamy soil around the idol.

"It is an altar to the Warrior," began Madeline, before furrowing her brow in confusion. "But."

"It's wrong," finished Alayna equally as puzzled. "The Warrior's face isn't supposed to be shrouded in a hood, he's supposed to be wearing a helmet."

"It's not _wrong_ ," said the Minstrel Veronica from her lounged position in the back of the cart. "It's how people described the Warrior when he descended to battle the demon. With blazing sword in hand he descended to protect his people in their time of need. You'll see lots more like these in the villages to come. Especially those who saw the demon in bronze," said Veronica wincing as if she was shuddreing at the memory of the Berserker. "You'll see a lot more piety around these parts because of it, but all of their prayers will be going to the Warrior. I mean you guys always go on about the gods, but one of them actually _walking_ among us? I know who I'm going to pray to. Of course you get those R'hllor fire worshippers saying it's the Lord of Light descended, but who's going to pray to a foreign god? I've actually been writing a song about him and I think it's almost ready. I wonder if he'd like it?" pondered the Minstrel.

Madeline sat in silence unsure of what to say, and a glance at Alayna let her know without any doubt that the other Septa knew Arthur's true nature.

The cart rocked as the minstrel hopped off and made her way to the idol, taking a necklace from around her neck and laying it at the foot of the idol that clasped a blade mimicking Excalibur. Then she began to pray.

Madeline quickly looked to Arthur, and saw in his eyes only deepening horror at the act. That people were now worshipping him as a god.

AN: Well I wanted to put in a chapter like this to showcase more of Arthur's passion for justice and his chivalrous nature. As well a better showing of his charisma and ability to have people hang on his every word and really some of the kinging that he's able to do. (editor says kinging isn't a word but I'm keeping it.) Also the harem must grow larger, even if Arthur is blissfully unaware of the fact.


	9. Chapter 9

Morning breakfast was almost done cooking and the smell of their freshly bought eggs cooking made their collective mouths water, though there were starting to be more mouths around than Madeline cared for.

Veronica the minstrel with nowhere left to go and no coin to her name had readily accepted Arthur's offer that she travel with them until she could perhaps link up with another caravan of entertainers, or until she found employ at a larger tavern. Arthur not even thinking of the ramifications of letting yet another person travel with them and the possibility of discovery. Alayna knew, although when or how Madeline didn't know, but it wasn't like Arthur was overly secretive about it. If it came to saving a life, she doubted that he would hesitate for an instant to use his powers. Speaking of Arthur, Madeline saw him standing atop of a low hill, overlooking the lands to the North, and their new direction of travel.

He turned to greet her as she strode up the hill towards him, bowing politely to her and offering her a hand up the last few steps of the hill.

"Good morning Ser Arthur, did you sleep well?"

"I did not sleep long last night Master, but I must confess the reason was that I was engaged with some nocturnal tasks," said Arthur, a guilty look upon his face.

"Oh?" said Madeline icily. "With whom?" The guilt on Arthur's face was quickly replaced with confusion as he furrowed his blonde brows together in puzzlement.

"No one else accompanied me Master, we were not in any danger last night, so I...ventured off on a mission of personal conscience," said Arthur completely missing Madeline's point which she was grateful for since he would not be offended at the accusation she had just levied. Though she had seen how the newest addition to their group looked at him and it irked her terribly.

"What mission of conscience?" asked Madeline. By way of reply Arthur opened his hand and showed a simple silver necklace with a stag pendant at the center of it.

"Lady Veronica left this as an offering at the effigy three days past. An effigy of me. This must be very precious to her if she didn't sell it when she was going hungry and she was going to leave it as an offering to a god that is nothing more than a man. She would have wasted a keepsake in a fruitless attempt to deify me and I could not sleep knowing that it was left behind in such a pointless way. But now that I have it, I have no way of giving it back to her without either first revealing everything, or else upsetting her greatly. I...am unsure of what to do Master," admitted Arthur. "I can not hold onto it forever, and yet I can not so readily return it to her either."

"Well, for the time being, I suggest that you just continue to hold onto it and one day perhaps an opportunity will present itself and you will be able to return it," offered Madeline.

"I pray that it will be so. Master," began Arthur, hesitance in his voice, the very presence of it worrying Madeline.

"What else is bothering you Arthur?" asked Madeline, seeing that Arthur seemed to be almost lost within himself.

"I understand that our worlds are different, and so the customs must be as well, and yet with recent events I can not help but feel unsettled. Forgive my doubts Master, I should not trouble you with them."

"No Arthur, I wish to hear them. Please, you need not carry your concerns alone," said Madeline. "Like we have often said, we are in this together."

"I," said Arthur faltering, and then Madeline saw it. The impenetrable stone mask that Arthur seemed to always wear faltering. Cracking to reveal the man underneath. A man beset by doubt and wracked by guilt.

"Please," pressed Madeline and the stone mask that Arthur wore shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Since my...death," said Arthur slowly, as if picking his words carefully. "I have come to reevaluate my perceptions of my faith. I have had much time to ponder it. The state I was in was not the promised paradise or torment, but yet it was not purgatory either. It was like a place I was supposed to wait in until called upon. I understand that such is the nature of the Grail, and yet such a place has never been described in any religious text that I am aware of. In the time I occupied that place I often contemplated if my faith was false, or if perhaps what I was taught of the bible was told in allegory in a way so that we could understand the message from God. That as his mortal children with immortal souls he explained things to us as a parent does a child so they can understand things far beyond their ken. I even pondered if perhaps he came to the Moors and the Israelites with differing explanations and conditions so that they too could best understand. That the Pantheon of Olympus and of the Norse people could be much the same. That perhaps all the faiths of my world all worshipped the same God, yet under different names. Yet, at the same time, there were very clear commandments passed down to us to follow in the Bible." Arthur paused for a few breaths, as if gathering the courage to continue speaking.

"You shall not make for yourself an image in the form of anything in heaven above or on the earth beneath or the waters below. You shall not bow down to them or worship them; for I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God, punishing the children for the sin of the parents to the third and fourth generation of those who hate me, but showing love to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments. Exodus, 20:4-6. I am guilty of sin," said Arthur quietly. "But more than that I am leading others to sin and if they do not repent, then they could be condemned to hell, because I lacked the courage to tell them the truth."

"Arthur, banish such thoughts from mind, you are no coward, and you would never try to lead those around you to such a fate."

"Yet those fears are merely the flies buzzing around the rotten core of my terror Master," said Arthur.

"What do you mean?"

"Master. In my world, in my religion, there is an opposite of God. A fallen child of his, the greatest of his progeny. Lucifer. He is who leads man to sin and to corruption, intent on luring the souls of the unwary away from the light of God. Hoping to trap and bind them into eternal torment. In my final moments I made a plea. For God to grant me a chance to undo my mistakes. Any chance at all to save England. To allow me to right the wrongs of my lifetime and kingship. Yet, what if it was not God who answered my prayers? What if it was the devil and I unwittingly made a pact with Lucifer? That I am now existing as a revenant shade meant only to serve his will and bring all I meet to ruin? That I sold my soul into eternal service with the devil? I-" Arthur fell silent as Madeline took his hand in hers and placed it upon her breast.

"What do you feel?" asked Madeline.

"I...feel your heartbeat," said Arthur.

"Yes, and it is a heart that yet beats because of you. Because my gallant knight answered the distant call of a woman in distress, and it is not the only one that still beats as a result. In our time together, you have not sought to only serve me, but all those in need. There are many bellies full of food now that would otherwise be empty, and many futures blessed with brighter tomorrows. People brought justice who were being denied it. You even stopped a war."

"Your words comfort my heart master," said Arthur, but there was a hesitance to his voice as he said it.

"What do you sound so unsure?" asked Madeline perplexed.

"Master...succession of the throne is never an easy thing, especially in a realm such as this where so many lords hold nearly equal power with one another. But these doubts are merely my own misgivings from unfortunate dealings, not a prophecy of what is yet to come."

"I would like to hear you misgivings regardless," pressed Madeline.

"As you wish Master," said Arthur inclining his head respectfully, but in that instant he looked much older. Like recalling the memories of his kingship added immeasurable years to his soul, weighing him down and making him look so very tired.

"The king's children are not yet of age to inherit, nor are they versed in statesmanship. In fact their base education is not anywhere near to completion. They have been kept at home in the Red Keep their entire lives, living isolated in a gilded cage, learning nothing of the lands around them save for what is in the books. They have not been fostered with other lords and made no lasting friendships with any who are their peers in all but title. The Arryn's and Tyrell's heirs know not of the royal children and I imagine the feelings between the Stark children and Baratheon royals will only grow more bitter. The common people know nothing of them, save for seeing them at public appearances and knowing they are the royal children. They have no reason to rally behind them, to love them, only reason to blame them for any misfortune that should befall the realm. The royal children will look for guidance in their ignorance as any ruler should, but will not be able to tell the difference between advice and manipulation. Especially if it comes from a supposedly friendly mouth. It is a delicate dance to keep the lords happy and the realm prosperous. To know whom to listen to and who to trust. It is a dance that takes the utmost care and skill to do properly and any misstep is quickly blamed on the monarch, child or no."

"But succession has rarely been a problem with past monarchs," said Madeline. "I mean obviously there have been some conflicts, but on the whole it has been peaceful. And they will have a regent present will they not? Lords who are well versed in politics and the land of Westeros."

"Succession of the Targaryen dynasty Master, King Robert's reign is one which has come about by right of conquest and claim of a distant bloodline. A tenuous one at best, one held by his strength and that of his and his wife's house. By his friendship to Lord Stark and by extension Lord Tully. A friendship and marriage that has bound over half of the lords of Westeros together in common purpose. A binding that I doubt will survive his passing. Many lords that still breathe remember a time when they bowed to a Targaryen monarch, not a Baratheon one. Though they may profess loyalty to King Robert, that loyalty may not extend to his heirs. The conflict between the Starks' and the Lannister's threatens to divide the kingdom if the king should die. The Lannisters will back the crown, the Tullys the Starks, and leave the rest watching to see who it is more advantageous to back. Or, if they could make a separate break for independence entirely. To rule a kingdom can be to walk through den of vipers. One misstep can bring it all crashing down."

"Would the King's brothers not back his son's claim though?" queried Madeline.

"I would like to believe that they would, yet a crown can ignite greed in even the most noble of hearts, and the King's eldest son will do little to inspire loyalty if I am right about him. A circlet of gold worn on one's head has the potential to drive all reason and compassion away. Friendships become liabilities, family become rivals, and love a weakness to be exploited. It is a sickness that is not limited to the one wearing the crown either, for it spreads like a plague to those around it. In the end all that remains is a desire for the crown itself, and the closer the crown appears the more hands will reach for it Master," said Arthur, voice bleak and foreboding, like an oracle reciting a prophecy of doom, or retelling of a tragedy and it sent a shiver of fear through Madeline.

"In all respects I could be wrong, cooler heads may yet prevail and the succession may transpire without consequence," said Arthur, upon realizing how uneasy he had made Madeline.

"But...if the King survives, this could be avoided?" asked Madeline timidly.

"It could Master," said Arthur.

"Then that is what we must do," said Madeline, fiery determination filling her voice. "You have the power to heal, to save lives. We will make all haste for Kings Landing and you will save the King's life. I believe that so long as he draws breath, the Seven Kingdoms may yet know peace."

"As you command my Master," said Arthur bowing once again. "We will eat and then depart at once."

Arthur offered his arm and Madeline took it, letting her knight escort her to their morning meal.

"Just how I like them," said Veronica, the minstrel grabbing the handle of the skillet to remove it from the fire. She let out a shrill yelp of pain as she accidentally grabbed too far forward on the handle distracted as she was tuning her lute and touching the bare metal heated by the fire. She withdrew her hand like it had been bitten, but the rapid movement upset the stand on which the skillet sat, threatening to toss their collective breakfast into the fire and ash below.

Reacting on instinct, Alayna grabbed the iron skillet with her bare hands, saving their breakfast and letting out a pleased 'aha' of triumph at the fact.

"I've waited far too long to eat freshly cooked eggs to simply let them be spoiled after tempting me for so long with their captivating aroma," Said Alayna, practically purring in self-satisfaction as she righted the stand on which the skillet had sat, holding onto the skillet with a free hand by the rim as she did so.

"Alayna, your hands!" cried Madeline alarmed at seeing her friend holding the pan in which grease still bubbled and spit from.

"Oh goodness!" exclaimed Alayna realizing finally what she was doing, quickly setting the skillet down.

"Your hands, let me see them!" said Madeline curtly, gourd of water ready in one hand as Alayna somewhat awkwardly held her hands up, palms facing upwards towards Madeline. Hands unblemished and near baby smooth, save for some callouses which had developed in her time on the road.

"What?" said Madeline in confusion.

"It wasn't really that hot," said Alayna, sounding embarrassed as Madeline inspected her hands.

"Plenty fucking hot to me," cursed Veronica. "And on my gods damned _fingers!_ How am I supposed to play my lute now?"

"Your injury is no reason to blaspheme," retorted Alayna reproachfully.

"Well when the hell is a good time to blaspheme then?"

"Never," said Alayna stonily, purple eyes filled with disapproval for the Minstrel's coarse language. "The Seven already saw fit to save you from one misfortune, the least you could do is show them some respect."

"Oh, did they now? So I suppose that Ser Arthur was sent by the Seven then was he?"

"Of course Ser Arthur was," said Alayna irritably. "In fact he's even- uh," paused Alayna mid-sentence, blinking dumbly, realizing what she was going to say and quickly falling silent.

"My good Ladies please, this bickering serves no one present and no purpose save to allow our morning meal to grow cold. Let us turn our tongues to better purpose and instead use them to enjoy this meal so lovingly prepared and valiantly saved shall we?"

With quiet grumbles those present assented to Arthur's request and soon all were happily eating their morning breakfast. All except one that is.

Veronica with her dominant hand now having been coated with a salve for her burns and wrapped in linen bandages found it too painful to use her right hand to eat with and was having trouble cutting her food into manageable sized pieces.

"My Lady, do you require assistance?" asked Arthur upon noticing Veronica's difficulty.

"If my Lord would be so kind, but I have no wish to impose," said Veronica, sweetly purring.

"It's no imposition at all," said Arthur and soon was all but feeding Veronica.

Madeline watched fuming at the display, until her eyes met Veronica's and the minstrel grinned at her. Then, taking another forkful of egg, lavished on the utensil, sucking on it and her pink tongue darting out and around it. Lips dragging across the fork as she chewed her food.

"Perhaps I'll have to think of an...appropriate reward for such a kind service," said the minstrel, voice a husky murmur. Once again smirking at Madeline who was all but about to have a vein burst in her head.

"Arthur! Why don't you enjoy your meal? I will aid the good lady Veronica here in your stead," said Madeline sweetly.

"I would not wish to trouble-"

"Oh it's no trouble at all!" said Madeline smiling too widely to be normal and all but shoving the King of Knights to the side, still smiling widely at the minstrel.

"Open wide," said Madeline, and a very bemused minstrel opened her mouth, only for Madeline to force a nearly whole egg to the back of her throat in one motion. "Eat up now, we have a big day ahead of us!" said Madeline still smiling.

"If you're trying to make me choke, It'll take more than that," said Veronica sourly after chewing and swallowing the egg.

"Oh my dear, I doubt that there's enough eggs in all of Westeros to make you choke," deadpanned Madeline.

Though Arthur remained ignorant of the exchange, having gone to get more eggs and bacon to cook in the skillet, Alayna munched happily on her breakfast, watching the exchange like it was a private play for her entertainment and watched with rapt attention.

xxx

"Well this looks like a good enough place to spend the night," said Bronn, jerking his thumb at a lone stone tower, leaning somewhat drunkenly to the side with the passing of years. Moss crept up the side of the tower, turning the bleak stone green instead of grey. The tower looked like an old message relay tower that the Maesters had kept up some time ago, but the rookeries at the top of the tower were long since empty of their feathered occupants.

"Oh yes, the blanket of stones will be quite warm when it collapses on top of us with the first breath of wind," quipped Tyrion.

"It it hasn't fallen over yet, it won't fall over with a little bit O' wind. It's going to rain tonight too, I'd like to have something over my head, and if any hillmen attack us, they can't come at us from all directions."

"We also won't have anywhere to run to," said Tyrion.

"Can't outrun hillmen anyways," said Bronn. "This way we stay dry too."

"Well so long as I'm comfortable before I die," said Tyrion as both he and Bronn entered the tower.

"I smell cooking, and ale," said Brom, voice on edge and drawing his sword and looking around the dark, empty interior of the tower.

"The stone is warm," said Tyrion, placing his hand on the wall of the tower, "and I smell smoke."

"We should go," said Bronn, but as he turned to the crumbling door it slammed closed and before his eyes locking in place. It went from rotten boards and rusty hinges to freshly hewn wood and forge fresh metal. A blink later and the tower was no longer empty and dark, but rather had a roaring fire in its hearth with a pot of bubbling stew, a strange concentric symbol carved onto the floor, and it was filled with armed men.

"A Lannister," said a hooded man standing at the far side of the room, a piece of chalk in hand, appearing to have been putting the finishing touches on the complex drawing on the floor. An almost sadistic glee in his voice. "It seems that fate yet smiles on me."

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage Ser," said Tyrion politely, while Bronn eyed the hedgeknights and bandits in the room with drawn steel. "May I ask you name?"

"That I do, and _that_ is the only thing I will ever give a Lannister," said the man, throwing back his hood, revealing a face still pink with healing scar tissue. A few strands of scraggly black hair still sprouting from his savaged scalp. "I am Karolus Reyne, and you are about to witness the birth of the creature that will finally lay your house low. Not that one though, I'll dispose of him now," said Karolus and a black miasma tinged with red seemed to engulf his hands.

He raised them up forcefully and Bronn left the floor like a thrown doll, impacting the roof, before sliding across it and into the far wall, sword going flying, before Karolus seemed to grow bored of his game and let him fall to the ground below where he laid limply.

Tyrion had never put much stock in witchcraft before, seeing it as something that superstitious peasants used to explain things that they didn't understand, or that the Sept used to use as allegory for evil. If not fully using it scare said smallfolk into more fervent belief and more willing tithes to fight back the 'dark forces.' Seeing it firsthand was another thing entirely though, and quite frightening if he was quite honest with himself. Also quite fascinating.

Karolus then gestured to Tyrion who felt something he couldn't describe grab hold of him and yank him forwards to the edge of the circle, chains appearing in flashes of light that bound him to the ground.

"Wait! Tell me what you want!" said Tyrion, bewildered more than anything as to what was happening.

"To watch you and all Lannisters die," said Karolus simply. "Now bare witness to the birth of my new servant."

The fire in the hearth flickered spasmodically and a chill seemed to sweep the room, before red light seemed to race around the pentagram like drawing on the floor on the floor, bathing the room in red like it was covered in blood. The brigands and sellswords of Karolus backing away fearfully from the witchcraft. Not sharing the manic glee of their master, perhaps simply too afraid to attempt to leave and risk tempting his wrath. The air itself rushing away from the summoning as if it sought to escape it.

"Silver and iron to the origin. Gem and the archduke of contracts to the cornerstone," said Karolus, voice rising in gleeful exuberance as he said the words that Tyrion understood were summoning whatever monster that Karolus promised to unleash upon the world. A sudden, insane idea occurred to Tyrion, and he placed his hands on the outer edge of the glowing design, repeating the words that Karolus was saying. Mouthing them like he had as a child when he had first been learning to read.

"The ancestor is my great master Reyne.

The alighted wind becomes a wall. The gates in the four directions close, coming from the crown,

the three-forked road that leads to the kingdom circulate.

Shut. (fill)

Shut. (fill)

Shut. (fill)

Shut.(fill)

Shut.(fill)

Simply, shatter once filled.

I, Karolus Reyne announce.

Yourself is under me, my fate is your sword.

By my right of power, I command that you appear, for I summon you with the promise of your greatest desire. That should you answer, you will be bound to me forever more.

Here is my oath. I am the one who becomes all the good of the world of the dead, I am the one who lays out all the evil of the world of the dead.

You, seven heavens clad in three words of power, arrive from the ring of deterrence, O keeper of the balance!"

Were Tyrion not bound to the floor by the chains around his wrists, he would have found it hard to remain where he was seated, as power beyond comprehension threatened to toss him away like an impudent child does a toy. Yet, even for the blinding light, he found that he could not look away, for he saw a figure taking shape in the mass of red light. A being with horns and a massive sword. Then with a sweep of its blade the crimson light was extinguished, and Tyrion was blown backwards by the force of it, shackles biting painfully into his wrists and wrenching his shoulders as he was forced to stay where he was.

"Tremble and despair Lannister, for I have summoned the most powerful of servants," crowed Karolus in triumph. Manic fire lighting his eyes from within.

"Now, Saber! Kill this wretched Lannister!" roared Karolus.

With steel shod boots striking stone, the armoured figure started towards Tyrion until it towered over him, a sword that a normal man would have difficulty wielding with two hands resting casually on its shoulder.

The full helm with horns stared down impassively at Tyrion, giving away nothing, but passing silent judgment nonetheless. Tyrion looking into the visor slits of the helm, but seeing nothing save for darkness.

"You must be joking," said the servant finally after a lengthy pause and what followed was a deathly silence in the room.

"What did you say?" demanded Karolus, voice barely above a coarse whisper.

"You want me to kill a bound dwarf with no weapon? I am a knight, not a butcher. This is beneath me, find another," said the being disdainfully, as though Tyrion was something foul that it had just been told to touch.

"I am your master, and you will kill him, because I commanded you to Servant! Now obey me!" screeched Karolus, voice cracking and spittle flying from his lips.

"My _name_ is Ser Mordred. My only concern is the grail, if you want petty murder, get one of your lackeys here to do it. They look like they'd be more than willing to oblige you. My blade is for those that stand in the way of our quest and for no other. Especially not a dwarf. The shame of killing such a hapless creature would be more than I'm willing to endure Master. Now if there is actually something threatening that opposes you, I'll gladly bring you its head."

"There is no grail you fool! You are bound to me. Perhaps if the grail is what you seek, you should have not been so desperate to accept a summons."

"What," said Mordred voice barely above a whisper, but Tyrion saw his fingers tighten with impossible strength around his blade.

"I said that you are mine, and the contract you entered? It gave me no limit for command seals. I am your master now and forever and if you don't want to scrape along in the dirt like whatever whoreson sired you, you'll do as I say!"

"Say that again," said Mordred in a voice that sounded normal, but Tyrion detected a tremble in it. Like a ripple in a pond of water. The smallest waver that betrayed frothing cold fury just below the surface.

"I said there is no grail you dense clod!"

"No. No, not that. About my father. What did you call him?"

"Your pox ridden, whoreson of a worthless father is of no consequence here! So long as I hold the command seals," said Karolus, pointing to his dominant hand as he held it up, but stopped dumbly when he saw he was pointing to a stump of an arm.

"Hmm?" said Karolus as if in a daze, looking down and seeing his arm on the floor, red command seals on the back of the hand. Then he began to scream in pain.

"You lied to me and summoned me under false pretenses," said Mordred, almost inaudible above Karolus' screaming. "But more than that, nobody insults my father!" roared the knight and with that Mordred separated Karolus' head from his shoulder in a gory explosion of blood.

With a cry, one of the hedge knights attempted to split Mordred's skull with a halberd, but Mordred caught the weapon with one hand, cackling with laughter as he casually swung his great sword one-handed and cut the man in half armour and all with seemingly no effort.

"You think you can kill me with that?" mocked Morded as he crushed a man's skull against the stone walls of the tower after his sword nearly broke after striking Mordred's breastplate which the knight had practically offered to the sellsword as a target. Then proceeded to behead a pair of dumbstruck brigands who had cast their lot with Lord Reyne. In a heartbeat more, they were all dead.

"Not even a challenge," sighed Mordred sounding disappointed. "Oh well, now I suppose that I just wait till the magic runs out and I go back. Mordred grabbed one of the chairs that had been knocked over in the confusion and sat down, before stopping and looking at Tyrion curiously.

"Did he know you?" asked Mordred.

"No, but he knew my father, which is most likely why he wanted to kill him, and me by extension."

"Hm. Odd thing is, it's almost like you summoned me too, but it's faint. You know, if you're lying to me, I'll take your head and mount it on a pike."

"Well there is an acute shortage of pikes around, though there is a mantle above the fireplace. Perhaps you could mount it there as a trophy for hunting such a fearsome creature as a dwarf. We're small, but surprisingly dangerous over short distances."

Mordred laughed loudly at that, gripping at his sides, though his face was hidden by his helmet it sounded like he brought to tears by it.

"I haven't laughed like that in a long time dwarf, here, have a drink with me while I wait to depart," said Mordred and in a movement too quick to follow cut the chains binding Tyrion and offering him a chair.

"By depart, what do you mean?" asked Tyrion after he had poured himself and Mordred a cup of wine.

"Go back to the Throne of Heroes and wait for a real Holy Grail War. With my master dead, there's nothing keeping me in this world. Won't be too long I don't think."

"Was that what you thought you were being summoned for?" asked Tyrion.

"Yeah, serves me right for being too eager though. Didn't fully pay attention to the wording of the contract. It was mostly right and I was more concerned about someone else getting the chance instead of me. So what else do you do dwarf? Besides making jokes."

"Well, drinking is something else that I'm quite well known for, so really, unless there's a book to be read, or a whore in need of some coin, you really know everything about me."

"Witty aren't you?"

"I do try," said Tyrion taking a sip of his wine, watching in fascination as Mordred seemed to be able to drink his, even with his helmet on. Putting the lip of the cup carefully under his helmet and drinking.

"It's really a shame that you're going to die, I actually kind of like you dwarf," said Mordred.

"Oh?" said Tyrion, doing his best to keep his mounting terror at bay.

"There's men through the forest outside. Probably drawn by the summoning. I can hear them."

"Could I convince you to help a witty dwarf?"

"Even if I wanted to, I'm almost out of mana. Once that happens and with no master around, I'll just disappear back to where I came from."

"Mordred, tell me. What do you want?"

"The holy grail," said Mordred simply.

"Alright, but why do you want that?"

"So that I can prove myself worthy of my father's kingdom, show him that I'm just as fit to be king as him. So unless you've seen someone wandering around with this crest on their armour," said Mordred gesturing to a dragon crest on his breastplate, "you have nothing to make me want a contract with you."

"I've seen that crest before," said Tyrion, doing his best not to flinch as Mordred crushed the wine goblet in his hand, causing the red wine to spill down like blood.

"Maybe I really will kill you dwarf," said Mordred menacingly.

"The winner of the Hand's tourney used that as his crest. Even locked away in the Vale of Arryn I heard about it. All of the knights were talking about it. About a man named Ser Arthur Penndragon."

"Arthur?" Is here? The king," said Mordred, and red shifting energy began to cover his form even as he shook with rage. **"ARTHUR!"** howled Mordred like an enraged animal, red lightning and energy lashing from the knight as he roared to the heavens above. Throwing the table so that it shattered like kindling against the wall. Tyrion resisted the urge to flinch away, or show any weakness. If he was going to forge a contract with this being, he had to be seen as worthy of it in its eyes.

"I have to stay! I can't leave! Not if...not if he's here! I will have my vengeance. You! Dwarf!" barked Mordred, half crazed with rage. "We will make a pact here and now, you and I. You will tether me to this world and in exchange I will be your sword and shield until I get what I want!"

"And what is it that you want?" asked Tyrion, surprised once again as he heard clacks of metal that was Mordred's helmet retracting into his armour. He was a handsome man with a strong jaw, fair features, golden hair, and very green eyes. He could have been a Lannister in all honesty, though he would need more sister fucking involved to seal the deal first.

"What I want is my beautiful father's head to hold in my hand and blood to stain my blade. Do we have a pact dwarf?"

"We do," said Tyrion, now hearing the sounds of many feet outside of the tower.

"Then I, Mordred Penndragon, son of Arthur Penndragon, and rightful heir of Camelot do so swear fealty to you," said Mordred and clasped Tyrion's hand in his, a burning sensation spreading from his hand to every corner of his body. Yet, Tyrion swore that as it died away, he could now sense the knight in front of him. As though he was now a part of himself.

"You're not a mage," said Mordred once the burning sensation receded, sounding irritated.

"Unfortunately no, but I have been called an imp."

"If only that were so. This is going to be so much more difficult without a steady source of mana," sighed Mordred in frustration.

"I hate to interrupt your musings, but there are men outside who want to kill us," said Tyrion as gruff voices made themselves known outside.

"Well I suppose there are other ways of gaining mana," said Mordred, a wolfish grin splitting his face, before with clacks of metal his helmet moved on its own to cover his face.

AN: Well that's another chapter gone and done with, really debated between male and female Mordred, but eventually female Mordred won out. I've changed a few things like her helmet will make her sound like a man and she'll be a bit taller. Like About 5'8" so not absurdly tall for a man, but not terribly short either and so she'll be able to pass as a man easier. Anyways leave a review and tell me what you think.

Edit: Mordred is a dude now, six feet tall and same as Arthur. Prototype Mordred so there's no confusion about anything. Sorry to those who wanted female Mordred.


	10. Chapter 10

AN: Just so that no one is confused or hasn't seen the updates, I decided to have Mordred be the prototype Mordred, because I had a real good father-son dynamic in mind and couldn't decide if I wanted Apocrypha Mordred going forwards or prototype. Also I updated chapter 5 and the scene between Arthur and Jaime.

Throaty laughter echoed through the forest, startling the men of the hill tribes as the knight dressed in silver and red held onto his sides. Great belly shaking guffaws coming from the Knight of Rebellion as he struggled for breath.

"You dare think to threaten us? You?" demanded Mordred, before laughing again with tears in his eyes. "Your axe is made of stone. Stone! What are you even wearing? Just animal skins? I'm sure those may stand up to the force of tepid insults, perhaps the stink will keep away the small folk, but a real weapon? Get serious and stop wasting my time. Go back to robbing swineherds and wandering drunks, this is too far above you," said Mordred, ignoring Tyrion's pleas for silence.

"Shaggah, son of Dolf will cut off your manhood and feed it to goats, little man," growled Shaggah menacingly, readying his axe.

"You're welcome to try, but I think there isn't enough time in all of God's creation for you to accomplish the task," said Mordred walking forwards, hands held to the side offering a target of his breastplate tauntingly.

With a roar, Shaggah swung his stone axe with a speed that belied his size and the weapon whistled through the air, missing its intended mark as Mordred almost lazily moved out of the way of the blow, then leaned out of the way of the next.

"Pray tell are you drunk? I'm right here," taunted Mordred gesturing to himself. "Come now, surely you can at least land a blow on an unarmed knight? Oh, you almost had me that time," taunted Mordred, putting clasping his hands behind his back as he casually dodged the axe blows.

"Shaggah will cut off your manhood!" roared Shaggah as he unleashed a flurry of blows against Mordred. "And feed it to goats!"

"Oh really?" said Mordred, a playful tint making its way into his voice, even as he casually dodged axe blows, speaking loud enough so that all assembled could hear him. "Your goats feast on the cocks and balls of men do they? Roast them on a spit and sprinkled with spice, or are you being euphemistic in what you turn to since women won't have you?"

"Die!" roared Shaggah, swinging his stone axe down towards Mordred's head with both hands, the forest falling deathly silent with the sound of stone striking metal.

Shaggah grunted, veins standing out in his arms and neck as he sought to pull back his axe that Mordred held firmly in his hand. Putting all of his strength into trying to retrieve the weapon. Then, ever so slowly and mockingly Mordred began removing fingers holding onto the axe until only his thumb and forefinger remained holding the weapon in place. The other hill tribesmen looking on in shock.

"Pray tell, would you like to know what I feast on?" asked Mordred and the stone axe held in his grasp shattered under sudden, titanic force causing Shaggah to stagger back a handful of paces. As he caught himself though, Mordred was suddenly in front of him, having covered the distance so quickly that even those watching had not seen him move.

His gauntlet covered hand quickly closed around Shaggah's hand. Twisting it and bringing him to his knees as he beat futilely at the armoured arm holding him in place. Mordred then brought his helmeted face close to Shaggah's so that the metal was almost touching his face.

"I feast on the souls of men," said Mordred in a near whisper, red light beginning to emanate from him, arcing in wild currents glowing brighter and brighter until it was as though he was ablaze in red fire, crimson lightning discharging violently from his form. The branches of the forest around them swaying as if caught in a gale wind, threatening to break under the strain.

Shaggah began to scream in terror and soiled himself, the harsh tang of urine soon filling the air, mingling with the harsh stink of fearful sweat and Mordred's overly dramatic laughter.

One of the tribesmen gave a cry and tried to cut down Mordred from behind, either driven by loyalty to Shaggah or mind numbing fear he raised his weapon high, only to be cut in two as crimson lightning flashed around Mordred's hand filling it with a blade that he swung with terrifying ease to bisect the man. The loamy forest soil greedily drinking up the blood that was spilled upon it.

"An acceptable appetizer," said Mordred as blood dripped down his blade, "but now it's on to the main course Shaggah, son of Dolf," words hardly audible over Shaggah's shrill screaming.

"Mordred, that's enough," said Tyrion and like a faucet suddenly closed, Mordred was no longer bathed in red light, the gale wind ceased, and deadly quiet returned to the forest, save for the weeping of Shaggah.

"As you say Master," said Mordred sounding bored again. "I'll kill anyone who runs before my master is finished speaking. And eat their soul," added Mordred almost as an afterthought, leaving the hill tribesmen standing where they were, though terrified as he hefted her two handed blade so that it rested on his shoulder casually.

"You will kneel when speaking to my Master!" barked Mordred, stepping down on the back of Shaggah's leg, forcing him back down to the loamy soil of the forest floor as he tried to rise when Tyrion approached.

"Mordred, come now. I would like to speak to Shaggah, son of Dolf in a respectful manner, as two men discussing terms. Let him up. A little too high Ser Mordred," admonished Tyrion as Mordred raised Shagga by the throat so that his feet danged off the ground, kicking in futility as he gasped for air.

"As you say Master," said Mordred, letting go of Shaggah so that he fell in a heap on the ground, before resting his sword across his shoulders and going to stand behind Tyrion.

"Now Shaggah, Son of Dolf I have a proposition for you if you would care to hear it," said Tyrion.

Xxx

"I don't like it and I don't trust the hill tribes," said Bronn stoking the fire with a long stick.

Night had fallen and with it the forest around them was cast in darkness, broken only by the flickering orange and yellow flames of their and the hillmen's fires with them. Their numbers were growing, following Tyrion and adding to his personal escort, or rather army as it was fast becoming.

Crickets chirped as the air cooled around them, but aside from them and the crackling fire, the only other sounds were low voices from the hillmen that travelled in the calm night air. Most of their talk was in regards to Mordred, those who had witnessed his display of power relaying it to those who hadn't. The most prevalent belief was that Mordred was a demon and that Tyrion was the imp whom had summoned him. While not entirely correct, they weren't entirely wrong either in their assertion.

Tyrion had offered fair terms to them, surprising both Mordred and Bronn. Mordred had wanted nothing to do with them, seeing them as scum who would be better off without their heads, and Bronn wanting to pay them far less. Tyrion had offered them generous amounts of wealth and weapons were they to serve.

"No, but they know the land and they're working for the promise of reward and if they want their payment, we have to make it to my father safely," said Tyrion. "I don't fully trust Lady Stark not to send the Knights of the Vale after me and having a few hundred hill tribesmen between me and them is quite comforting."

"I am afraid that I must agree with the sellsword Master. They only agreed to help because of fear and that's a blade that cuts both ways," added Mordred. "They have no loyalty to you, just greed."

"Well I'm not appealing to their sense of loyalty or honour, I'm appealing to their greed, which so happens to be much more effective, so that suites me just fine."

"Their trophies also make my blood boil," muttered Mordred.

"Everyone likes trophies," said Tyrion.

"Not ones taken from travellers and small folk. The fingers from a bard, the cock of a septon, and the rib bones from a hunter for Christ's sake. They're marauders and bandits, preying on the weak and defenceless. Filthy barbarians every last one of them! I've seen their ilk enough to know that as soon as we part ways they'll go right back killing and robbing those who can't protect themselves."

"Wouldn't have thought you cared so much about us poor small folk, you didn't seem the type," said Bronn idly.

Pops and cracks of stone being crushed echoed loudly around their campfire as Mordred turned a rock in his fist to dust, all the while eyeing Bronn with a warning gaze from within the confines of his helmet.

"What would you know of me or chivalry sellsword? You would smother an infant still suckling at a mother's breast if one were to offer you a few pieces of silver. Insult me again cur and you shall see that your head replaces the rock in my grasp."

"You're right Ser Knight, it's just that you seemed so kind and caring threatening people with death all the time I can't believe that I didn't notice your noble nature before," quipped Bronn.

"Continue to wag your sharpened tongue and see it answered with steel in kind," threatened Mordred, temper rising.

"As you say Ser Knight, wouldn't want to provoke one of your noble bearing to strike down a simple peasant. It would be awful to make you break your word to your master in the process," continued Bronn, referencing the pledge that Mordred had made to not hurt any of Tyrion's other retainers.

With a growl Mordred rose to his feet, hefting a fist sized rock as he did so.

"I'm going hunting, I want some meat," said Mordred Brusquely before walking off.

"He can kill you, you do realize?" asked Tyrion.

"Oh any cunt with a knife can kill me, but he knows that if he does he makes his honour look like dog shit. He can crush all the rocks he wants, but he won't lay a finger on me unless you say to."

"So it's all a game to you then?"

"Some men wager their coin, I wager my life against something that in all likelihood is a demon."

"Then why are you still following me around?"

"Besides the money? He probably would kill me if I did. Or you might tell him to, to keep your secret."

"And you think I would do something like that?" asked Tyrion in a joking tone.

"I would," said Bronn simply.

Xxx

Tyrion was vaguely aware that he was dreaming and in the dream he was riding a horse. Or rather it was like he was behind someone who was riding the horse, watching over their shoulder. There were other riders present as well, as he was hemmed in on every side by armoured knights displaying their heraldry proudly as well as the flag of their lord that Tyrion didn't recognize. Brilliantly polished armour glinting in the noonday sun. The ground shook with the passage of so many heavy horse and Tryion could smell the sweat, both man and horse, smoke on the wind, and the iron tang of blood. The smells of battle and war. With a start Tyrion realized that it was Mordred that he sat behind, lance lowered and silent as the gap between the charging knights and a larger group of horsemen closed.

A battle cry was raised moments before collision, loud and echoing, before with a thunderous crash the two groups met. Whinnies and cries of pain from men and beast alike filled the air. Metal striking metal, the meaty sound of flesh being struck, and the cracking of wood as lances snapped at the haft. Tyrion watched Mordred spear a man in chainmail off of his horse, striking him in the neck, then lance another through the chest and drive him to the ground, but taking the front half of Mordred's lance with him. Then Tyrion watched as Mordred fought in a swirling melee of horses and men, his sword flashing and striking in all directions flinging blood like an artist throws paint at a canvas. Blades and spears scraping off his own armour as the men he was fighting sought to claim his own life. It was a wild and confusing brawl that had blades coming from every direction and what seemed more random hacking and slashing that any coordinated fighting effort.

Then they were through the melee, charging again, this time towards a large formation of infantry carrying large round shields. They had an assortment of spears, axes, and swords making a solid wall of steel towards the approaching knights and yet they thundered forwards regardless.

Tyrion saw Mordred shift his gaze to the man leading the charge. A man dressed in beautiful armour of silver and blue, a crown affixed to his helmet and lance lowered. The king, Mordred's king. Tyrion felt what Mordred must have felt in that instant, because he realized that it wasn't his emotions. Rather it was awe, admiration, love, and unconditional loyalty that spilled forth. He realized that Mordred would die in an instant for his king if it meant keeping him safe. Tyrion watched Mordred try to manoeuvre his horse closer to his king, but the press of horses and men was too thick and the charge already committed.

Tyrion watched in horror as he realized that the charge was not a feint and that the Saxons they were charging at were not breaking. The warhorses impaled themselves on the outstretched spears, shrieking terribly in pain as they fell mortally wounded onto the lines they had been forced to charge into. Men were thrown from their mounts and set upon by the Saxon infantry while they were either too dazed or too injured to resist. Outnumbered many times over Tyrion watched them continue to fight regardless. Then it happened.

The battlefield was suddenly awash in a golden light and Tyrion could see why. The king had risen from his fallen courser and drawn his own sword. A weapon that glowed like the sun and cut through man and armour as easily as a hot knife through butter and the skill with which he wielded it would make him an equal of Ser Arthur Dayne. Yet, he was still just one man and couldn't see the Saxon intending to run him through the back with a spear. Mordred did though and kicked his horse in the flanks hard, spurs digging into the flesh of the courser drawing blood as he forced it forwards.

Then seemingly without hesitation Mordred leapt from his mount onto the Saxon before he could impale the king through the back. Tyrion watched Mordred beat the man with steel clad fists before driving his knife through the man's eye, blood welling around the steel. Mordred rose then, sword in one hand, dagger in the other and fighting like the devil himself. A whirlwind of steel and blood amongst the melee. His sword soon full of notches and having lost his dagger he picked up an axe from a fallen Saxon, wielding it in tandem with his sword. Hacking and slashing he showed total disregard for his own safety, fighting until he was back to back with his king, protecting him with a ferocity that made him the equal of any ten men. Tyrion could feel Mordred's desire as plain as if it was his own. His only desire so strong that it felt like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Protect the king, Arthur Pendragon.

Tyrion woke to the smell of cooking meat and saw that a roaring fire was crackling away, a full deer carcass roasting above it, slowly being rotated by Mordred who was eating ravenously like he had been starving to death.

"Hm, I was just dreaming about you," said Tyrion stretching.

"I dreamed about you too," responded Mordred between mouthfuls of meat.

"Oh really? What was I doing?"

"Not entirely sure where you were Master, but it involved lots of wine and lots of tits. As well as other things I don't feel like repeating."

"Well that certainly sounds like me," quipped Tyrion. "In my dream you were killing people."

"That sounds about right," said Mordred.

"Seems like a strange coincidence doesn't it? Two people dreaming about each other on the same night? My how the hill tribes will talk."

"Not really," said Mordred bluntly. "You're my Master so my soul is bound to yours. We'll share things across the bond at a subconscious level. It's how I always know where you are and if you're in danger and how you can sense me if you concentrate hard enough."

"Slow down there Ser Mordred, that deer isn't going anywhere," said Tyrion, mildly impressed at the speed with which Mordred was eating.

"It's his third fucking deer since last night," said Bronn sounding like he'd gotten very little sleep as a result.

"Really?" asked Tyrion incredulous, looking and seeing sure enough enough bones piled a short distance away for two full deer. "Quite the appetite you have Ser Mordred."

"I have to replenish my mana somehow since you're not a mage," said Mordred sounding thoroughly annoyed at the fact."

"I think that you're the only person I know that's annoyed I'm not a foul creature with spells and foul magic at my command."

"Mana isn't inherently bad, it's the intent behind it. Evil mages can still heal wounds if they know how and have the inclination. As a manifested heroic spirit, I need it to remain in the world of the living."

"What happens if you don't?" asked Bronn.

"I disappear," answered Mordred simply.

"Oh how terrible," said Bronn, sounding like he thought it was anything but.

"Out of curiosity what are the ways that you can regain mana?" asked Tyrion.

"One is my Master supplying me with mana," said Mordred holding up a finger. "Two is taking the mana from the life force of another by killing them, which I refuse to do to innocents to simply have my power grow," said Mordred pointedly locking eyes with Tyrion.

"And I would never order you to do such a thing," assured Tyrion.

"Good, then we have an accord," said Mordred. "The next one is eating which I'm doing now, and the last way is...well.." said Mordred face beginning to colour red in what Tyrion realized was a blush. "It's...um...tantric magic," mumbled Mordred quietly.

"Which is?" asked Bronn when Mordred wasn't any more forthcoming.

"Sex magic," said Mordred.

"Fucking makes you more powerful?" asked Bronn sounding both impressed and incredulous.

"That is a rather blunt and simple way of putting it, but yes."

Bronn and Tyrion both looked at each other, before laughing.

"It's not that funny," muttered Mordred.

"So drinking wine then would also replenish your mana then?" asked Tyrion.

"It's the same as eating, so yes," said Mordred.

"Were I a spirit I believe I'd be unstoppable," mused Tyrion.

"Fighting, fucking, eating, and drinking sounds like heaven to me. Only downside I suppose is having to shit and sleep."

"I don't have to do either of those things," said Mordred between mouthfuls of meat.

"I saw you sleep sure enough last night for at least a few hours, said Bronn, seeming genuinely impressed.

"No, tis true. Sleeping reduces the mana I need, though it is not the most efficient way and anything I eat is broken down and converted without waste."

"Out of curiosity, what is the most efficient way to conserve mana?" asked Tyrion.

"To become incorporeal."

"In what?" asked Bronn.

By way of answering, Mordred licked his fingers clean of grease, looked Bronn square in the eyes, then disappeared into particles of blue light, before they too disappeared. Both men present visibly jumped, with Bronn actually rising to his feet, alarm clear on his face.

"Is he...gone?" queried Bronn to no one in particular.

"No, I'm still here," answered Mordred's voice from seemingly the air itself, before particles of blue light coalesced rather rapidly from nothingness and once more Mordred stood before them, except now he was dressed in a fine red tunic, pants, and well made brown leather boots. The attire of a noblemen, or high ranking knight attending court.

"And you can do that anytime you want?" asked Tyrion.

"Of course I can," answered Mordred almost indignant.

"And in this incorporeal form, you can still see and hear?" asked Tyrion.

"Yes, I can also pass through solid objects so long as they aren't imbued with magical barriers. I'm a spirit and my body is just a representation of what I looked like when I was alive. That being said if my head is removed or I'm lanced through the heart I will die. Or if I take enough damage in battle."

"So who's to say that this is really what you look like at all? Maybe you really are a demon Ser Mordred."

"Keep talking like that sellsword and you will never retrieve your blade," scowled Mordred.

"Bronn, where is your sword?' asked Tyrion noticing the empty scabbard at the sellsword's hip.

"Oh, just up there," said Bronn pointing. Tyrion followed the finger and saw a sword stuck through the trunk of a tree all the way to the hilt about twenty feet above their heads.

"Ser Mordred, how did Bronn's sword get in the tree?" asked Tryion rhetorically.

"The sellsword was being rude and would not hold his tongue."

"So you took his sword away as punishment?"

"Aye, I did," answered Mordred simply.

"And when can Bronn expect to get it back?"

"When his manners improve and he apologizes for his offence."

"I see. Bronn, what offence is he talking about?" asked Tyrion.

"Oh I was just pointing out that he didn't have any lord's permission for hunting is all."

"He accused me of poaching and thievery," said Mordred hotly.

"Well you did take the deer," said Bronn airily.

"Only because I needed to eat to survive. Any nobleman of honour would not begrudge a man some game if it was the difference between life and death. My fellow knights and I would often pardon any man who needed the game to legitimately feed his family or was left without recourse."

"Oh I don't think that you know noblemen like you think you do," mused Bronn.

"And what would you know of nobility sellsword?" demanded Mordred.

"Only how they act O' noble knight, so I'm assuming it involves a lot of beheadings and whippings. I'm afraid I just don't know how they think of themselves. Probably that their nightsoil smells of roses and that the Seven smile upon their every act."

Mordred just glared at Bronn in furious silence until Tyrion broke the silence by clearing his throat.

"Bronn, do you think it is possible that you may have upset Ser Mordred-"

"He didn't _upset_ me," interrupted Mordred indignantly.

"Could have fooled me," said Bronn.

"Bronn. Do you think you may have insulted Ser Mordred with your accusations?"

"I suppose so," offered Bronn.

"And Ser Mordred, don't you think it decidedly unwise to have to deprived one of our group of his weapon when surrounded by so many of dubious loyalty?"

"If I was not fully capable of defending us by myself perhaps," said Mordred.

"Would it not also seem as condescending to Bronn that you would take away his weapon upon which he earns his living like a parent scolding a child?"

"Were he to keep his tongue in better check and act with even a modicum of civility there would have been no need."

"But can you see how it would seem demeaning to Bronn?"

"Yes."

"Then can we both agree that mistakes were made and shake hands as men?"

"I suppose that I find that solution amiable," said Mordred and extended his hand towards Bronn.

"You've still got grease on your hands," intoned Bronn dryly and Mordred scowled fiercely, green eyes ablaze with annoyance.

"Bronn, don't be rude," said Tyrion reproachfully.

"I don't want greasy hands," defended the mercenary as Mordred irritably cleaned his hands on a kerchief.

"Satisfactory?" demanded Mordred, holding out his hand once more.

"I think so," said Bronn and the two men shook hands.

"Good, then this should be as well," said Mordred rising and walking towards the great oak that the sword was stuck into just as some of the hill tribe leaders walked over to Tyrion. Shagga among them.

"Master Tyrion," began Shagga nervously, powerful frame hunching in fear as he approached the dwarf.

"Shagga son of Dolf, come and share my fire. We have roast venison that I am sure that Ser Mordred would not mind sharing. He likes venison much more than souls you know."

"I-I would not dare to take the honour of sharing the cooking fire of Ser Mordred," stammered Shagga fearfully.

"Oh well, more venison to sate his appetite for souls then. Tell me, who are your friends?"

"I am no friend of Shagga, son of Dolf, I am Chella, daughter of Cheyk and I lead the Black Ears," said a woman of unremarkable stature of feartures, save for her necklace of black ears looped around her neck. Flat as a boy, yet strong and wiry, bearing scars on her arms from fights with long knives that her clan were known to carry.

"Well met Chella, daughter of Cheyk, I am Tyrion, son of Tywin of house Lannister. I am honoured to count you among our number."

"I came to see what riches the imp and his demon promised," said Chella, but instead I only see two soft southerners who have played tricks upon us," spat Chella.

"Tricks?" said Tyrion inquisitively, as a loud crash filled the air, sounding like thunder just overhead and making all present save Tyrion flinch, though he wished that he had covered his ears. With a loud groaning sigh, followed by a much less remarkable crash, the large oak that contained Bronn's sword fell down just besides the camp.

"That should be satisfactory sellsword, now you just need to pull it from the wood," said Mordred, not bothering to hide his smugness as he sauntered back to the fire and he brushed wood chips from his sleeve and sap from his knuckles.

Tyrion had to suppress a grin at the looks of horrified shock from the hill tribes transfixed on Mordred, especially Chella, none daring to so much breathe as the servant approached.

"Oh, Ser Mordred?"

"Yes Master?"

"Chella, daughter of Cheyk seems to think that you played a trick on Shagga the other day and in essence, lied about your abilities."

"I never said lied!" blurted out Chella, face white with terror.

"Indeed?" asked Mordred deathly quiet, radiating deathly intent as he stared down the smaller hill tribe woman. Then, began to glow ever so subtly red as energy built up around him.

"You collect ears do you Chella? I would call it barbaric," began Mordred and with a crackle of red lightning a great two-handed blade filled his hand. "But I have a penchant for heads myself," and with a motion too fast to follow swung the greatsword, a trail of red energy following the blade and the air from the great weapon being swung kicking up a gust of air that made clothes whip like they caught in a gale and the trees around them shook the same. The edge of Mordred's blade stopped just short of Chella's neck.

"Pray thee remember that you all draw breath at the pleasure of my Master," said Mordred, voice dripping with menace enough that it even made Tyrion's hair stand on end. "Now remove yourself, your ears stink," added Mordred and rested his sword on his shoulder.

"Mordred, are you hungry?" asked Tyrion suddenly.

"I'm always hungry," replied Mordred taken off guard and confused at the question.

Like a man possessed, Shagga grabbed hold of the venison and ribbed a chunk off, offering it to the Knight of Rebellion.

"Thank...you?" said Mordred, thoroughly confused to the retreating backs of the hill tribe leaders.

"You sure do like to make yourself out to be the antagonist, don't you Ser Mordred?"

"With them? I must," said Mordred simply, gnawing on a chunk of meat. "They were going to kill us the other day for what we had in our pockets. That one probably would do it for our ears," said Mordred gesturing towards Chella. "These people are animals, utter barbarians and filthy murderers. I have nothing but the deepest of contempt for them. Besides, if they fear me they'll be much less likely to try and double cross you."

"I'm sure that the offer of wealth would have been more than enough," said Tyrion.

"And then you would be a hostage rather than a commander Master. And with those castle forged blades in hand once their contract is fulfilled they'll return to their homes from which they will raid with ever growing impunity. With a war going, I doubt too much attention will be given to protecting the subjects of the realm."

"You know, for a noble you sure do talk a lot about protecting us poor small folk," said Bronn as he struggled to pull his sword from the tree.

"A knight who does not protect the people of the realm, _all_ of the people no matter their station, is no true knight at all," said Mordred, steely conviction strengthening his words.

AN: I figured that I'd put out this chapter like this to break the hiatus (had to rewrite it a coupe of time in its entirety) and also as a showcase for Mordred.


End file.
